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FAITHFUL ROYER, 


AND OTHER STORIES. 


BY 

THE AUTHOR OF 

“LITTLE KITTY’S LIBRARY,” “DOLLY’S CHRISTMAS CHIOKEOT,” 
“MAGGIE AND THE SPARROWS,” ETO. 



Zi£%7. 


NEW YORK: 


HURST & COMPANY, Publishers, 
122 Nassau Street. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1371, by 

ROBERT CARTER AND BROTHERS, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 

-o- 

Copyright, 1891, 

By HUIiST & COMPANY. 


r— 

LC Control Number 



2008 461930 

i- 


ARGYLE PRESS, 
Book Manufacturers, 
265-267 Cherry St., N. Y. 








































CONTENTS 


CHAP, PAGE 

I. Faithful Hover. 7 

II. Alfred’s Ten-cent Piece .22 

III. Gathering Apples. 31 

IV. Annie and her Bird.38 

V. Little Words of Kindness .... 61 

VI. Obedience. 60 

VII. Dick and his Dog Rough-.. 77 

VIII. Nelly and her Dolls. 98 

IX. The Selfish Boy . 105 

X. Give the Poor Boy a Light .... 109 

XI. Kind Tom Matthews. 118 

XII. Tiie Stolen Pleasure. 130 

XIII. Peter’s Visit to the Sick Boy . . 142 

XIV. Aunt Sally’s Wood-pile.153 

XV. The Shipwrecked Children .... 167 





































'JpHE trouble with Dotty Doolittle 
was, that she loved to play and 
read story-books so much that she 
never wanted to do any thing useful. 
So, when her mother called her to 
study her lessons, or to amuse her lit¬ 
tle brother, or to rock her baby sister, 
she was very apt to come with a scowl¬ 
ing brow or pouting lip, instead of the 
bright, happy smile which had been 
upon her face only a few minutes be 
fore, when she had been running races 



8 


FAITHFUL ROVER. 


with Rover, or swinging with her doll, 
or playing with her dear friend, Lily 
Lee, who lived in the next house. 

“ O mamma! ” said she, one morn¬ 
ing ; “ I am so glad that I am not a 
grown-up lady, to have to sit still so 
long as you do, and sew so much. I 
should not mind sitting still sometimes, 
if I had nice story-books to read, but I 
am sure I should not like to write so 
many letters ; and then never to play 
or run about must be very disagree¬ 
able.” 

Her mother smiled at the strong ex¬ 
pression of dislike upon her little girl’s 
face, as she said all this. 

“ Perhaps, my darling,” she replied, 
“ when you are a lady you will prefer 
sitting still and sewing and writing, to 


FAITHFUL ROVER. 


9 


play; and will choose to walk rather 
than to run and jump. Now that you 
are a little girl, I am glad to see you 
skip about and have a good time, and 
your happiness makes me happy. Yet 
I would like to see you sometimes will¬ 
ing to be useful. God has given to 
every thing that he has made in this 
world something to do. Your work is 
to help me when I need you, and to 
study a little every day so that as you 
grow older you may be more useful, 
and that when you no longer care for 
play you can be happy in other ways.” 

“ And what is Kovers work, I won¬ 
der ? ” said Dotty, as she put down her 
needle to pat the dog, who was lying 
by her side, waiting for her to finish 
her sewing, that they might have their 


lo FAITHFUL ROVER . 

usual frolic; for Dotty was hemming a 
handkerchief for her papa, or she 
would not have kept still all that time 
to hear all her mother had to say. 

•‘O, Hover’s work is to guard the 
house,” replied her mother, “ and to 
take care of you when you go off to 
walk. Do you not remember how he 
brought your father’s cane to him the 
other day when it fell into the water ? 
Whatever he has to do, he does most 
faithfully.” 

The very next day Dotty learned 
a lesson of faithfulness from Hover 
which she does not mean to forget. 

It was Saturday, and she had no les¬ 
sons ; but directly after breakfast, her 
mamma gave her a note to take to a 
lady who lived almost a quarter of a 
mile distant. 


FAITHFUL ROVER. 


II 


“ After you come back, Dotty,” said 
her mamma, “ you may play until it is 
time for baby to go to sleep ; then I 
want you to amuse your little brother; 
for nurse has to go to see her sick 
mother to-day, and I have something 
very important to attend to.” 

Dotty was very willing to take the 
note, but she looked very cross at the 
thought of haying to stay in the house 
to amuse her little brother, for she 
had planned to go off in the woods 
with Lily that morning. However, 
she said nothing about it, for she 
thought there might be time to go af¬ 
ter her mother was ready to take her 
brother again 

She had a very pleasant walk with 
the note, or rather run; for Eover 


12 


FAITHFUL ROVER,. 


went with her, and she never walked 
with him by her side. The lady who 
received the note gave her a spray of 
beautiful roses; it was early in the 
summer for them, and they were the 
first Dotty had seen that season, so she 
was much pleased with them. 

She reached home quite out of 
breath from running, and threw her¬ 
self on the step of a little piazza which 
was by the side of the house to rest, 
while Rover took his station near her. 
All at once she remembered having 
heard that dogs would take care of 
things for their masters, if they were 
told. “ I mean to see if Rover will,” 
she said to herself; so she threw the 
spray of roses down before him, and 
said, — 


FAITHFUL ROVER. 


13 


“ Now, Rover, take care of them; 
do you hear \ take care of them.” 

The dog had evidently been taught 
that lesson before; for he kept his 
place by the flowers as Dotty moved 
away from him, and never offered to 
follow her, as he generally did. 

She only meant to leave him for a 
few minutes, while she went into the 
house for a glass of water in which to 
put her roses; but as she passed 
through the hall on her way to the 
dining-room, her attention was at¬ 
tracted by a book which she had left 
there on the sofa the evening before, 
containing a story which she had not 
finished. She took it up, intend¬ 
ing to read but a page or two; but 
she became so much interested that 


FAITHFUL ROVER. 


H 

she forgot all about the roses and the 
dog. 

She was reading when her mamma 
called her to go to the nursery to play 
with her little brother. Still thinking 
only of her story, she took the book 
with her. But Master Arthur had no 
mind to let her read; he seized the 
book with both hands, saying, — 

66 No, No ! blocks ! blocks ! chickie ! 
chickie ! ” 

So the story had to be left, and she 
seated herself on the floor to build a 
pen in which to drive his toy chickens. 
This was a favorite play of his, be¬ 
cause Dotty always became so excited, 
and said “ Shoo ! shoo ! ” so loud that 
it amused him greatly. But Dotty had 
played it so many times that she was 


FAITHFUL ROVER . 


*5 

very tired of it; and so, when she had 
it all arranged, and had made believe 
drive the chickens for a few minutes, 
she said, “Now Arthur shoo the 
chickies himself; ” and took up her 
book again. 

But Arthur, in his efforts to imitate 
Dotty, soon had the blocks and chick¬ 
ens all tumbled together in a heap on 
the floor, and then he went to the 
closet for more playthings to tempt 
Dotty to play again. He attempted to 
lift from the shelf the box containing 
his menagerie, which he could just 
reach by standing on tiptoe. But as 
he pulled it toward him, a box which 
was on top of it came too, and, sliding 
off, tumbled on to the floor,- striking 
his little curly head on the way. It 


16 FAITHl r JL ROVER . 

was a heavy, wooden box, containing 
tin soldiers, and it gave him a pretty 
severe blow. 

Of course Dotty’s book was thrown 
down in an instant, and she was by 
his side, trying to comfort him. His 
cries brought his mother, and also 
awoke the baby, who was sleeping in 
the next room; so Dotty had to be 
left to bathe the lump which the box 
had raised on his head, while her little 
ladyship was attended to. 

Dotty felt very sorry, for she loved 
her little brother dearly, and she tried 
in every way to make him forget his 
pain; but he did not cease crying 
until she proposed taking him into the 
garden. This suited him exactly; and, 
promising her mother to be very 


FAITHFUL ROVER. 


17 


watchful this time, Dotty was allowed 
to lead him down stairs, and out into 
the garden. They went out of the 
front door; so they did not see Kover, 
and Dotty was feeling too sorry for 
her carelessness to think of him. 

She led Arthur up and down the 
paths, picked flowers for him and 
made him very happy, until suddenly 
she heard some one calling her. Loos¬ 
ing toward the end of the garden, 
she saw Lily standing on the other 
side of the fence. 

“ Come, Arthur, let’s see how fast 
we can run,” said Dotty, as she seized 
the little fellow’s hand and hurried 
him along to the place where Lily 
was waiting. She had a new bonnet 

in her hand, which she had just made 

2 



FAITHFUL ROVER. 


18 

for her doll, and Dotty soon became 
so much interested in admiring that, 
and then in planning about going to 
the woods that afternoon, to look for 
wild flowers, that she forgot about 
caring for her little brother. 

Her attention was called to him by 
hearing a sudden scream, followed by 
loud cries, and, running to the end 
of the path on which she was standing, 
she found him seated on the ground 
behind a bush, holding up one of his 
little fingers, which was already be¬ 
coming red and swollen. 

“ Bad fly ! bad fly! ” he screamed, 
“ in the flower.” 

Poor little boy! he had attempted 
to pick flowers for himself, and not 
seeing that a bee was helping himself 


FAITHFUL ROVER. 


19 


to some honey from a blossom which 
he fancied, he put his finger directly 
upon it, and the bee, not liking to be 
pinched, stung him. Dotty hurried 
back to the house with him, trying to 
comfort him by saying, “ Mamma will 
make it all well; ” but it was some 
time before even mamma could make 
him forget the pain. Fortunately, 
baby was willing to lie in her crib, 
so his mother could hold him on her 
lap after she had bound up his finger. 
Dotty brought one plaything after 
another to amuse him, but nothing 
could tempt him to leave his mother. 
At last, she said, 44 Would Arthur like 
to see Bover?” Yes, he seemed 
pleased at that idea; but where was 
the dog \ 


20 


FAITHFUL ROVER. 


She ran down stairs, calling “ Rover! 
Rover! ” She heard a short, quick 
bark in answer; going to the side of 
the house from whence the sound 
proceeded, she found him where she 
had left him two hours before, still 
keeping watch over the roses, which 
were now beginning to fade. 

Dotty put her arms around his neck, 
and hugged him tight, exclaiming, 
“ You dear, good dog! have you been 
here all the time ? And I forgot all 
about you. Mamma is right; you are 
faithful.” 

How ashamed she felt of her own un¬ 
faithfulness. If she had only watched 
her little brother as carefully as Rover 
had the flowers, he would not have 
been hurt. She picked up the roses. 


FAITHFUL ROVER . 


21 


and went to tell her mamma the whole 
story, calling to Rover to follow, which 
he did very willingly, glad to be 
relieved from his charge. 

Arthur forgot the pain in his finger 
when he saw the dog and the flowers ; 
and his mamma was much interested 
in hearing of the lesson Dotty had 
learned from Rover. The flowers 
soon revived when they were placed in 
water, and looked fresh for many days. 

Little children often think the duties 
they have to perform are so trifling 
that it is no matter if they do neglect 
them; hut Jesus does not think so. 
Nothing that He gives us to do is too 
small to be noticed by Him, and He 
looks with favor on all little ones 
who do whatever they have to do 
“ heartily, as to the Lord.” 


II. 



j|cn-tcnf 



“ ^^HEKRIES ! fine ripe cherries ! 

here they go, ten cents a 
quart! ” This is what Alfred Hope 
heard one morning, as he sat on the 
back steps getting his fishing-line in 
order, to use that afternoon. 

“Hallo! ” said he, “ there’s old Isaac 
with cherries to sell. I believe I’ll buy- 
some ; ” and he thrust his hand in his ' 
pocket, to see if the ten-cent piece his 
father had given him that morning was 
safe. * ' ' 



ALFRED'S TEN-CENT PIECE. 23 

Yes, there it was, keeping company 
with slate-pencils, knife, chalk, pieces 
of string, and all the various articles 
which usually find their way into the 
pockets of school-boys. Then, seizing 
his hat, he ran out of the gate after 
Isaac, who by this time had trundled 
his wheelbarrow some distance down 
the lane. 

Alfred soon caught up with him, 
however, and in a few minutes the ten- 
cent piece was exchanged for a hatful 
of the fine large cherries which Isaac 
had picked that very morning from a 
tree in his garden, where the vegeta¬ 
bles which filled the rest of the barrow 
had also grown. 

Alfred seated himself on the ground 
to enjoy eating some of his cherries at 


24 ALFRED'S TEN-CENT PIECE . 

once. They were so delicious that he 
thought he must take some to his little 
sister ; but he was sure she would like 
them best if tied in bunches, so he 
proceeded to prepare them for her. 
While he was thus engaged, his Cousin 
Frank came up. 

“ O Alfred! ” he exclaimed ; “ what 
splendid cherries ! give me some.” 

“ Why can’t you buy them for your- 
self'C’ replied Alfred. “ Old Isaac is 
only just over there; I got them from 
him.” 

44 Oh ! my money is all in my tin 
bank at home,” said Frank; 44 and it is 
too much trouble to go after it.” 

44 Yes, that’s just the way,” said Al¬ 
fred ; 44 you save up all your money 
like a regular old miser, and then ex- 


ALFRED’S TEN-CENT PIECE. 25 

pect other fellows to give you their 
good things.” 

“ Well, -I wouldn’t be so stingy,” 
returned Frank. You’re worse than 
Joe over there; he never has any 
money to spend becauses he gives it 
all away.” 

“ You needn’t get mad so quick, and 
call me stingy. I didn’t say I wouldn’t 
give you any. Hallo, Joe! ” Alfred 
continued, calling to Frank’s brother, 
who stood near, “ come get some cher¬ 
ries. Sit down, Frank; let’s have a 
feast,” and Alfred, as generous as he 
was careless, after laying aside a 
bunch of cherries for his mother, and 
one for his sister, began to dispense 
his fruit to his cousins, who seated 
themselves on the grass beside him. 


26 ALFRED 1 S TEN-CENT PIECE. 

Joe would not take many ; he would 
have refused entirely, if he had not 
been afraid Alfred w~ould feel hurt. 
He did not think it was fair for him to 
save his money and then take from 
other people, even though he meant to 
do good with his money. 

But no such scruples restrained 
Frank, and he ate more than his 
share. 

“ Papa,” said Alfred when he was 
ready to start for Sunday school the 
next morning, “ will you give me some 
money for the missionary collection \ 
You know our school is going to help 
build that church out in Iowa, and I 
promised my teacher that I would bring 
five cents every Sunday. 

“ Why do you not give part of the 


ALFRED'S TEN-CENT PIECE . 27 

ten cents I gave you yesterday \ ” said 
his father. 

“ Because I didn’t think of the col¬ 
lection yesterday, and I spent it for 
cherries,” replied Alfred. 

“ Well, here is five cents more for 
you,” said his father, handing him a 
piece of money ; 44 but try to be more 
careful another week, for I am sure 
you will enjoy the feeling that you are 

0 

giving your own money, more than if 
you always give mine.” 

Frank and Joe were in the same 
class with Alfred, and when it was 
time for collecting the money, Joe was 
ready with his as usual; but Frank had 
none to give. He preferred to keep it 
in his nice little tin bank. 

Alfred thought of his father’s words 


28 ALFRED'S TEN-CENT PIECE. 


as he handed in his money, and deter¬ 
mined that another week he would 
save some of his own. 

He told his mother so that after¬ 
noon, when they had their usual quiet 
Sunday talk. 

“ But,’” said he, “ what is a boy to 
do when there are so many nice things 
to buy 1 ? and I never keep all I get 
for myself. There was Frank and Joe 
came along just as I had bought my 
cherries, and I gave part to them. To 
be sure, Joe would not take many, 
though I wanted him to, because he 
saves his money to give away; but 
Frank ate more than I did, and he had 
no money for the collection this morn¬ 
ing either.” 

“ I should not like you to be selfish 


ALFRED'S TEN-CENT PIECE. 29 

or mean, my dear boy,” said his 
mother, “ and I hope you will always 
be ready to share your pleasures with 
others. But 1 do not want you to buy 
whatever you see simply because you 
think it will taste good ; that is self- 
indulgence. The next time you are 
tempted to do so, think a moment 
whether you had not better save your 
money for something else. It is a 
good plan to lay aside *a part of all the 
money you receive to do good with. 
The rest use as you think best, in buy¬ 
ing something that will give you last¬ 
ing pleasure, or presents for your 
friends. Yet I think that your wants 
are so well supplied now by your par¬ 
ents and friends that you will soon find 
that you will need to buy but little, and 


■ 


30 ALFRED'S TEN-CENT PIECE. 

that the portion which you lay aside to 
give away will be the larger, for you 
will learn the pleasure, of giving.” 



III. 

|atbrinfl 

“ jyjAMMA ! mamma! ’ said little 
May Somers, running into the 
house with her arms full of rosy ap¬ 
ples ; 44 see what Mr. Hopkins has given 

_ ^ »> 

me. 

44 O what beauties! ” said Sam, 
throwing down the book which he 
had been reading, to take the apple 
which his sister offered him. 44 Where 
is Mr. Hopkins 1 ” 

64 He is in the orchard,” said May, 
44 and he has commenced to gather his 



3 2 


GA THE RING APPLES. 


apples for market. He had a large 
basket full when he gave me these. 
He said he wished he had a boy to help 

him ; he had offered some of the boys 

* 

around here six cents a bushel, if they 
would work for him ; but they were all 
engaged.” 

“ Mamma, may I go and help him 1 ” 
said Sam, eagerly ; “ it would be such 
a good way to earn money for building 
the Kansas church, and I have not 
been able to get much this summer.” 

“ I fear that you will soon become 
weary, and give up just as Mr. Hop¬ 
kins is depending on you,” said Mrs. 
Somers. 

“O no, mother! I will work just 
as steadily as Mr. Hopkins himself, I 
promise you.” 


GATHERING APPLES. 


33 


So his mother gave her consent, and 
off he ran to the orchard. 

Mrs. Somers and her children had 
been boarding for the summer at Mr. 
Hopkins’s farm-house, and now they 
were staying later in the autumn than 
usual, for the benefit of May’s health, 
which was very delicate. The Sun¬ 
day school which Sam attended in 
the city had agreed to raise as much 
money during the year as they could 
toward building a church in Kansas ; 
and it was to add to that fund that Sam 
was so anxious to earn money by pick¬ 
ing apples. 

Mr. Hopkins was very glad to have 
his help, and set him to work imme¬ 
diately. He had picked all the finest 
apples from one tree by hand, and he 

3 


34 


GATHERING APPLES. 


was ready to shake off the rest, so Sam 
had come just at the right time to pick 
them up from the ground as they fell. 
The best of these were to be put in 
one basket, to be used in the house; 
the others in another basket, to be fed 
to the animals. 

Sam worked most industriously until 
dinner-time. May helped him a little 
while; but it made her head ache to 
stoop, so she went to the piazza to play 
with her doll. In the afternoon she 
brought a book and sat under the 
apple-tree, and read him a story while 
he worked. 

The next morning, Mr. Hopkins was 
not ready to go to the orchard very 
early, so Sam had time to learn and say 
his lessons, as usual, to his mother. 


GATHERING APPLES. 


35 


He had scarcely commenced his work 
with the apples, when his two cousins, 
who were staying at a farm-house near 
Mr. Hopkins’s, came for Sam to go 
fishing with them. It was a great 
temptation to him; but he remem¬ 
bered his promise to his mother to 
work steadily, so he told them he could 
not go ; and not all their persuasions 
could induce him to change his mind. 

The work seemed rather dull after 
they had gone, and he could not help 
thinking how much pleasanter it would 
have been under the willow-trees, fish¬ 
ing in the brook, than picking up 
apples. But his mother, who had 
seen his cousins with their fishing-rods 
go off without him, knew what a trial it 
must be to him not to accompany them; 


36 GATHERING APPLES. 


so she took her sewing out to the or¬ 
chard, and, seated there on a camp-stool, 
told him a pleasant story, which made 
the time pass quickly. 

By the end of the week the apples 
were all gathered, and Sam felt quite 
repaid for the self-denial and fatigue 
which his work had cost him, when he 
thought of the pleasure of handing the 
money which he received for it to his 
Sunday-school teacher, with the con 
sciousness that he had earned it all. 

It made him feel in haste to go home ; 
but Mr. Hopkins said he must go fish¬ 
ing with him first, for he had heard all 
that had passed between Sam and his 
cousins under the apple-tree. So, one 
morning he took them all in his wagon 
to the beach, about three miles otf, and 




GA THE RING A PPLES. 3 7 

they went out in a boat and caught a 
fine lot of fish. 

The next spring, when a drawing of 
the church in Kansas was shown to the 
Sunday school, Sam felt very happy 
that he had helped to build it, and he 
told his mother that he hoped to preach 
in it some day. 







IV. 


Jennie and kr |jird. 


u JYJAMMA,” said a little pleading 
voice, “ may I come in your 
bed ? it thunders so loud, and I am so 
afraid.’ 7 But mamma was fast asleep, 
and she heard neither the roar of the 
thunder, nor her little girl’s feeble voice 
as she called from the next room. 

Annie lay still for a few moments, 
listening to the pattering of the rain; 
then came a flash of lightning so bright 
that she could see every object in her 
little room; it was followed immediate- 



ANNIE AND HER BIRD. 


39 


ly by a loud peal of thunder, which 
seemed to shake the house to its 
very foundation. 

64 O mamma, mamma! ” screamed 
Annie, in an agony of terror; “ don’t 
you hear the thunder] What shall I 
do]” Then her fear of being alone 
overcoming the dread which she always 
had of walking from her room to 
her mamma’s in the darkness of the 
night, she sprang from her bed, and in 
an instant was by her mother’s side. 

The last clap of thunder, and her 
little girl’s loud call, had both together 
awakened Mrs. Gray, and she was 
just about to go and comfort Annie, 
when she felt the small, cold hand laid 
upon her cheek. In a moment the 
little trembler was folded close in her 


4° 


ANNIE AND HER BIRD. 


mother’s loving embrace, and with her 
head upon the same pillow, Annie 
felt safer than she would have felt 
anywhere else. Her fear was not all 
gone, though, and her mother felt 
her arms clasp her tighter at each 
flash of lightning and peal of thun 
der. 

“ This is our Father’s storm, Annie,” 
said Mrs. Gray. “ Can we not trust 
Him to take care of us ] ” 

“ But he seems so far off, mamma,” 
said the child. 

“Yet He is not, my darling; He is 
close at hand; and to me He seems to 
be telling us that, though He is so great 
and powerful, as this storm shows Him 
to be, He will take care of the feeblest 
of His creatures.” Then, in a low 


ANNIE AND HER BIRD. 


41 


voice, Mrs. Gray sang these sweet 
words: — 

“ Howl, winds of night, your force combine; 

Without His high behest, 

Ye cannot in the mountain pine 

Disturb the sparrow’s nest.” 

Annie could not understand all the 
words, but they soothed and comforted 
her; and, while the sound of the 
thunder rolled far away in the dis¬ 
tance, growing fainter and fainter as 
the shower passed off, she fell asleep 
with these last lines sounding in her 
ears : — 

“ Ye cannot in the mountain pine 
Disturb the sparrow’s nest.” 

In the morning, when she awoke, the 
sun was shining clear and bright, and 
the rain-drops glittered on the trees like 
clusters of diamonds. A little bird’s 


4 2 


ANNIE AND HER BIRD. 






joyous song, close by Annie’s window, 
recalled the words her mother had sung 
in the night. 

“ A good many little birdies were 
taken care of last night, I suppose,” 
she said to herself; “ I wonder if they 
felt afraid in the storm \ ” 

After breakfast, she went out to see 
how her garden looked; all the leaves 
from the roses, which had been in 
bloom the day before, were scattered 
on the ground; but there were plenty 
of buds freshened by the rain, ready to 
take their places ; and though some of 
the slender plants were blown down, 
they were not broken, and only needed 
to be tied to stakes to look as well as 
ever. 

“ Yes, mamma was right,” said 


ANNIE AND HER BIRD. 


43 

Annie; 44 God did take care of every 
thing in the storm.” 

Just then she heard a faint chirp 
close at her feet; and, looking down, 
she saw a little bird hopping along, not 
yet able to fly. 

44 Why, poor little birdie,” she said; 
44 where did you come from? Did the 
wind blow you from your nest ? ” And 
she looked up in a tree which was near, 
trying to see if the bird’s home was 
there; but if it was, the leaves so hid it 
that she could not find it. Neither was 
there any father or mother bird near, to 
watch over the tender nestling. 

Annie lifted it carefully from the 
ground, and placing it in the palm of 
one hand, she covered it carefully with 
the other, so that it could not flutter 


44 


ANNIE AND HER BIRD . 


down to the ground again, and carried 
it into the house. Her mamma would 
know what to do with it, for she always 
knew what to do with every thing. 

“ Poor little thing,” said Mrs. Gray, 
as she looked at the bird; “ it is too 
young to leave its mother yet; it must 
have fallen from an over-crowded nest. 
I do not believe it can pick up food for 
itself yet.” 

“ Then must it die ] ” asked Annie, 
piteously. 

“ No,” said her mother, “ I think old 
Peter will know how to feed it. We 
will take it to him presently.” 

“ Oh ! perhaps he will,” said Annie, 
her tone changing to one of joy; “ shall 
we go soon?” 

“ Yes, in a very few minutes ; but first 


ANNIE AND HER BIRD. 


45 


get a little basket, in which to carry 
the bird, and some soft cotton.” 

“*Who is old Peter ? and how does 
he happen to know so much \ ” said 
Annie’s cousin Julia, a young lady who 
had come to make them a few weeks’ 
visit. 

“ Oh you must go f with us and see 
him,” said Mrs. Gray, as she arranged 
the bed for the bird; “ he is an old 
man who used to get his living by gar¬ 
dening ; but when he became too infirm 
to work out of doors much, he under¬ 
took to raise birds for sale, and he has 
a large collection now, and makes a 
good deal of money by selling them ; 
for he tames them so nicely that peo¬ 
ple will come from quite a distance to 
buy one of his birds.” 


46 ANNIE AND HER BIRt). 

It was a very pleasant walk to Peter’a 
cottage. When Annie, with her mother 
and cousin, reached it, the door stood 
open, and a very pretty sight presented 
itself to them. Peter was sitting on a 
wooden bench, with a little bird perched 
upon his finger, which he was feeding 
by means of a stick, which he dipped 
into a dish of bread and milk, which 
one of his granddaughters was holding 
on his knee. Her little sister was 
, leaning on his shoulder, watching the 
little bird eat, with much delight; and 
even the dog Trip seemed interested, 
though perhaps he was thinking what 
a nice plaything the bird would make 
for him. The children’s mother stood 
by, holding the cage which was to be 
the home of the little creature. 



ANNIE AND HER BIRD . 47 

Peter welcomed his visitors very 
politely, and told them he was tam¬ 
ing that little bird, which he had just 
taken from its mother, for a young 
lady. When its breakfast was finished, 
and its cage hung up, he took the cover 
from Annie’s basket, and said he would 
feed her bird as it rested there in its 
bed of cotton. 

“It will feel less afraid there,” he 
said. 

But it did not seem frightened at all; 
it chirped, and opened its mouth, as if 
it knew that he could feed it; and as it 
did so, Peter placed a morsel of food 
in its throat with his little stick, which 
it swallowed as readily as if it had been 
used to being fed in that way all its 


48 ANNIE AND HER BIRD. 

“ If you will leave it with me a few 
days, Miss Annie,” said the old man, 
“ it will soon learn to feed itself, and 
then it will be a nice pet for you ; it is 
a young robin, and will be a fine singer, 
I think.” 

Annie was very glad to leave the 
bird in such good hands, and after it 
had eaten as much as it would, the 
ladies looked at the numerous families 
of birds which were in the cages which 
hung about the room, and then bade 
Peter good-by, and started for home. 

“ Mamma,” said Annie, as they 
walked along, “ I have been wonder¬ 
ing why God did not take care of this 
little bird in the storm.” 

“ I think He did take care of it,” 
said her mother. 


ANNIE AND HER BIRD . 


49 


“ Why, mamma! He let it fall oat 
of the nest.” 

“Yes, and He let it fall just where 
you could see it and pick it up,” re¬ 
plied her mother. “I am sure, darl¬ 
ing, it is now as well taken care of as 
if it were in the crowded nest from 
which it fell; you know Jesus tells us 
that not a sparrow falls to the ground 
without our Fathers notice, and this is 
only a new proof to me of the truth 
of that saying.” 

“ O yes, mamma! ” said Annie ; “ I 
see now, and our Father sent me to 
take care of the little bird.” 

“ And, my child, the next time that 
you are afraid as you were last night in 
the storm, remember the rest of our 
Saviour’s words : 4 Fear not, therefore, 
4 


JO ANNIE AND HER BIRD. 

for ye are of more value than many 
sparrows.’ ” 

Annie thought that she could not 
soon forget this beautiful lesson of 
trust in our Father’s care which the 
bird had taught. She was often re¬ 
minded of it when the little robin came 
to live in the large cage which her 
mother provided for him, and she heard 
him warble his sweet song of praise, 
sometimes hanging on the piazza, and 
sometimes flying about her room or 
perching on her shoulder. 


t 



y. 


|We Ijords of |[im!n«. 


JT was haying time, and every one at 
Mr. Hastie’s farm was very busy. 
There was a heavy crop of hay this 
year, and extra hands were hired to 
bring it in, while Mr. Hastie and his 
two sons worked as hard as any one. 
In the house, Mrs. Hastie bustled 
about preparing dinner for the hay¬ 
makers, with no one to help but 
Jeannette, a young orphan girl about 
fourteen years old, whom she had 
taken to train in household work. 










5 2 LITTLE WORDS OF KINDNESS. 

Jeannette was naturally very care¬ 
less, and Mrs. Hastie not very patient; 
so now, when she was so much hur¬ 
ried, her tones were more than usually 
loud and shrill, as she sent the girl 
hither and thither to attend to various 
duties. No wonder that little Willie 
Hastie, a gentle, quiet child, who had 
just returned from his grandmother’s 
house, was glad to escape from the 
confusion by taking his little pail to 
pick blackberries in the field not far 
from the house. 

The dinner was all ready to jlace 
upon the table, and Mrs. Hastie had 
blown the horn to call the men from 
the field, when she noticed that the 
pitcher of water was wanting. 

“Here, Jeannette,” she said, “go to 


LITTLE WORDS OF KINDNESS . 5 3 

the well as quick as you can; for Mr. 
, Hastie always wants a drink of fresh, 
cool water as soon as he comes in.” 

Jeannette scarcely waited to hear 
the last of the sentence before she was 
off, she was so anxious to please Mr. 
Hastie, who was always so kind to her. 
But, alas ! she was too quick this time; 
for just before she reached the well, 
she stumbled over a stone, which in 
her hurry she had not noticed, and, in 
trying to save herself from falling, the 
pitcher slipped from her hand and was 
broken. “ O, what shall I do l ” she 
said; “ what will Mrs. Hastie say ? ” 
and she covered her face with her 
hands, and burst into tears. 

The next moment some one pulled 
her dress gently, and she heard a soft 


5 4 LITTLE WORDS OF KINDNESS. 

voice say, “ Don’t cry so, Jeannette ; I 
will tell my mother that you did not 
mean to break the pitcher, and I 
will give her all my money to pay for 
it.” 

It was little Willie Has tie, who was 
on his way home with his blackberries. 
He had seen the pitcher fall from her 
hands, and his tender heart was much 
troubled at her distress. 

His kind words were very comfort¬ 
ing to the poor girl, but she could not 
make up her mind to go to the house 
with him when he proposed it. 

“ O, I cannot! ” she said; “ I have 
nothing to carry the water in, and 
what will your father say \ ” 

“ Well, you wait here, then,” said 
Willie ; “ and I’ll ask my mother for a 


LITTLE WORDS OF KINDNESS. 5 5 

pail, and you can bring that full.” So 
the little fellow ran oif toward home, 
and Jeannette began to pick up the 
broken pieces. 

Willie met his mother at the door, 
as he came up out of breath with run¬ 
ning so fast. 

“Where can that girl be?” she 
said; “ here’s your father and all the 
men at the table, and not a drop of 
water to drink.” But when she heard 
of the disaster, she was more out of 
patience still; “ such carelessness ! she 
never heard the like.” 

“ Please don’t scold her, mother,” 
said Willie, pleadingly ; “ she is very 
sorry; and if you will give me a pail, 
she will bring it full in two or three 
minutes. And I guess I’ve got money 


5 6 LITTLE WORDS OF KINDNESS. 

enough in my pocket-book to buy an¬ 
other pitcher.” 

Mrs. Has tie laughed at this, and said 
she did not care much for the pitcher, 
but she wanted the water; so, giving 
him a pail and a kiss at the same time, 
she went into the house, thinking what 
a darling boy he was. 

Willie soon returned with Jeannette, 
who brought a brimming pailful of 
water. 

“Please, ma’am, I’m very sorry,” she 
said, as Mrs. Hastie took it from her 
hand to fill another pitcher which she 
brought from the pantry. 

“ O well, it can’t be helped now,” 
was the reply ; “ only be more careful 
the next time.” And Jeannette car¬ 
ried the pitcher to the table, won- 


LITTLE WORDS OF KINDNESS. 5 7 

dering at Mrs. Hastie’s unusual gen¬ 
tleness. 

“ It’s all because of little Willie,” 
she said to herself; “ what a dear lit¬ 
tle boy he is.” And that is what every¬ 
body said who knew him. He loved 
fun, and could play as well as any 
other boy; but he was never rude or 
quarrelsome, and his gentleness made 
every one else about him gentle. 

That evening, after Jeannette’s work 
was done, she sat on the stone step in 
front of the kitchen-door, watching the 
stars as they came out, one by one, 
when Willie came and sat by her and 
laid his head upon her lap. 

“ Willie,” she said, “ I wish I could 
be good and gentle like you, and that 
people would love me as they do you.” 


5 8 LITTLE WORDS OF KINDNESS. 

“ My grandmother says,” replied 
Willie, “that every one who loves 
Jesus will try to be kind and gentle, as 
He was when He lived here upon the 
earth; if we ask Him, He will help 
us ; and, Jeannette, don’t you know I 
am Jesus’ little boy 1 ” 

Just then Willie’s mother called him 
to go to bed, and Jeannette was left 
alone. But she sat still, thinking of 
Willie’s words, “ Jesus’ little boy; ” 
that was what made him so different 
from many children she had seen. 
Then she prayed in low tones, so that 
only Jesus could Hear her, that He 
would take her for His child and make 
her good and gentle. 

Little children often say that they 
would like to be useful, but there is 


LITTLE WORDS OF KINDNESS. 5 9 

nothing they can do; but every child 
can teach by example, and make others 
happy by speaking kind and gentle 
words, if it is only to say, “ I am 
sorry,” to any one who is in trouble. 




VI. 

|j)Mience. 

“ J DECLARE! it is too bad that Will 
is not here yet; he promised to 
come directly after dinner, and here it 
is nearly three o’clock; ” said Joe Whit¬ 
more, as he looked out of the window 
up the road for the twentieth time, to 
see if his cousin was coming. 

44 Why do you not go without him \ ” 
said his mother. 44 Something may 
prevent him from coming at all; and 
it is a pity for you to lose this pleasant 
Saturday afternoon, — your only holi¬ 
day.” 



OBEDIENCE . 


61 


“ There isn’t much fun in going 
blackberrying alone,” said Joe ; “ but 
then Will never cares how long he 
keeps a fellow waiting; so if you will 
tell him, mother, if he comes, that he 
will find me among the blackberry 
bushes on the other side of the little 
bridge, I’ll be off.” 

He was just leaving the room, basket 
in hand, when his mother called to 
him to be sure and come back over 
the bridge, and not by the stepping- 
stones, and through the brambles. 
She did not tell him why, for fear of 
spoiling his afternoon’s pleasure. A 
woman who had sold her blackberries 
the day before, had told her of a large 
snake she had seen there among the 
thick bushes. She did not think there 


62 


OBEDIENCE. 


was any danger on the other side of 
the stream, because the ground was 
more cleared. 

Joe had been gone about fifteen 
minutes when Will made his appear¬ 
ance, loitering along the road. He 
said he had stopped to play ball with 
some boys he had met on the way. 

After he had received the necessary 
directions, he went on and soon found 
his cousin. 

Will had not brought any basket, 
for he said he could eat all the black¬ 
berries he could pick. He thought 
only of gratifying his own appetite, 
while Joe industriously tried to fill his 
basket, that he might share the fruit 
with his mother and sister at home. 
If he was pleased, Will did not care 





OBEDIENCE . 63 

whether others were or not; and so 
when the boys came to the bank of 
the stream by the stepping-stones, 
without waiting to ask Joe if he 
wished to go that way, he jumped 
from stone to stone until he reached 
the other side, and then called to him 
to follow. 

But Joe hesitated. “ Come along,’’ 
said Will. “ I wouldn’t be such a 
baby as to be afraid ; you have only 
to jump from stone to stone, and you 
are over. Besides, this is the nearest 
way to the road which leads toward 
home.” 

“ I am not afraid to cross,” said Joe; 
“ you know that very well; but — but ” 
— he continued, hesitating to give the 
true reason, “ there are not so many 
berries over there.” 


* I 


6 4 


OBEDIENCE . 


• 


“ Nonsense ! ” said Will. “ Yes, 
there are, and if you are not afraid, 
why, come along. Oh ! perhaps you 
think your mother wouldn’t let you.” 

“Well, wouldn’t that be reason 
enough ? ” said Joe. 

“ O, of course, for such a good boy 
as you, who always minds his mother! ” 
replied Will, in the same mocking tone 
he had used before; “ but perhaps you 
will change your mind if I tell you 
what she said to me when I called for 
you this afternoon.” 

“What was it?” said Joe, eagerly. 

“She said, ‘Tell Joe he may go 
with you anywhere in the woods,’ ” was 
Will’s reply. 

“ Did she really ? ” said Joe, joyfully ; 
“ then I’m with you in a minute.” And 



OBEDIENCE. 


65 


lie scrambled over the stonesso quickly 
that he upset his basket, and the ber¬ 
ries which he had gathered so carefully 
were all spilled into the stream. 

His cousin never offered to help him 
at all; but stood laughing at him as 
he picked up his dripping basket, and 
tried to dry it upon the grass. Joe 
did not want to spoil their afternoon’s 
pleasure by a quarrel, so he repressed 
the angry words which had risen to his 
lips, though he did not feel much like 
joining in Will’s merriment. 

Joe was right about the berries ; there 
were not nearly as many as on the other 
side of the stream; but there were 
plenty of briers, and it was not very 
easy to push his way through them. 
By the time he reached the road 

5 


m 


66 


OBEDIENCE. 


which led to the house, Joe’s jacket 
was torn in several places, and his 
hands badly scratched from holding 
the bushes back as they passed through. 
Will escaped more easily, for he had 
kept close behind Joe, walking in the 
path which he had made; and the 
scarcity of berries did not trouble him, 
for he had eaten all he wished. 

As Joe entered the gate and walked 
up to the house, he looked very differ¬ 
ent from the clean, happy boy who had 
left it about two hours before. “ Why, 
Joe! ” said his little sister, as she 
peeped into the basket, “ how few 
berries ! Couldn’t you find any more \ ” 

“ Yes ; I had it nearly full when 
Will persuaded me to cross the stream, 
and my basket upset. I tried to fill it 


OBEDIENCE. 6 j 

again, but there were more brambles 
than berries on this side.” 

44 But, my son,” said his mother, who, 
coming down stairs just then, heard 
what he said, 44 did you forget that 1 
told you to come back over the little 
bridge ? ” 

44 Why, no, mother ; but Will said 
that you told him I might go anywhere 
in the woods with him.” 

44 O no. I directed him how to 
find you, and said he would have no 
difficulty, because I had told you that 
you might pick berries anywhere in 
the woods, on that side of the stream; 
so you see he omitted part of my words. 
I knew you would find it uncomfort¬ 
able in those thick bushes, besides giv¬ 
ing me plenty of work for my needle.” 


68 


OBEDIENCE . 


And Mrs. Whitmore shook her head as 
she looked at the rents in Joe’s jacket. 
She said nothing about her fears of 
snakes; for she was sure, if the boys 
had seen any, Joe would have told her. 

“ I’m very sorry, mother,” said Joe ; 
%t but I thought Will told the truth, and 
now I see that he only cared for hav¬ 
ing his own way. He’s a real selfish 
fellow.” 

“Well, never mind him now,” said 
his mother. “ Scolding at his faults 
will not mend your jacket; but, after 
this, remember that it is safe to follow 
the directions which are given you, 
without regard to what your compan¬ 
ions may say about them.” 

The next day, after church in the 
afternoon, Joe’s little sister May came 


OBEDIENCE. 


69 


to hear the Bible story which her 
mother usually told her at that time. 
It was too dark for Joe to see to read 
his library-book any longer, so he took 
a seat by his mother to listen to the 
story too, much to May’s delight, who 
said she was so glad that Joe was 
going to be a little boy again. 

Their mother said she would tell 
them of one of the kings of Israel, 
who reigned after David and Solomon. 
He was a very wicked man; for he 
commanded the people to offer sacri¬ 
fices to two golden calves which he 
had had made, instead of to the Lord 
God of Israel. 

One day, just as he was preparing 
to offer a sacrifice to these idol-gods, a 
prophet came and stood by the altar 


70 


OBEDIENCE . 


and gave him this message : 64 Thus 
saith the Lord: a king shall be raised 
up who will destroy all who wor¬ 
ship these idols ; and for a sign that 
this is true, this altar shall be rent, and 
the ashes scattered upon the ground.” 

The king was very angry at the 
prophet, and stretched out his hand to 
lay hold on him and have him pun¬ 
ished ; but as he did so the Lord caused 
his hand to fall powerless at his side, 
and at the same moment the altar was 
rent, and the ashes were scattered. 
Then the king was frightened, and 
begged the prophet to ask the Lord to 
cure his hand, for now he saw that the 
Lord had sent him. 

The prophet prayed to God for the 
king, and his hand was restored. 


OBEDIENCE . 


71 


“ Now,” said the king, “ come home 
with me and rest, and I will give thee 
a reward.” 

“ No,” said the prophet. “ I can¬ 
not ; for the Lord commanded me not 
to eat bread or drink water in this 
place, or to return by the way which I 
came.” 

So the prophet started to go home 
by a different way from the one by 
w 7 hich he came. 

Now, in the city where he had spoken 
to the king, there lived an old prophet, 
whose sons heard what had been said 
to the king, and came home and told 
their father. He was very anxious to 
see the prophet who had been sent 
from the Lord, and when he heard 
which way he had gone, he rode after 
him to bring him home. 


72 


OBEDIENCE. 


He found the prophet resting under 
a tree by the side of the road, and he 
begged him to come home with him 
and eat bread. 

But the prophet said, “ No ; the Lord 
had commanded him not to eat bread 
or drink water in that city, or to return 
by the way which he had come.” Then 
the old prophet said: 46 An angel spake 
unto me by the word of the Lord, say¬ 
ing, Bring him back with thee, that he 
may eat bread and drink water ; ” but 
he lied unto him. 

The tired prophet, who was no doubt 
faint with hunger, did not wait to 
consider that if the Lord had intended 
to change his command he would have 
told him, but believed the old man, and 
returned to his house with him. 


OBEDIENCE . 


73 


While they were eating at the table, 
the Lord really sent a message to the 
old prophet for his guest; it was this : 

• 4 Thus saith the Lord; because you 
have disobeyed my commandment in 
returning to this city to eat bread and 
to drink water, you shall not be buried 
in the sepulchre of your fathers.” 

It was a great trial for an Israelite 
to be told that he must die away from 
his home and friends, and with a sor¬ 
rowful heart the old prophet departed. 
He had not travelled far when a lion 
met him and killed him. His dead 
body lay by the side of the road, and 
there some men who were passing saw 
it, with the lion standing beside it. The 
animal never offered to attack the trav¬ 
ellers, or to eat the body of the prophet; 


74 


OBEDIENCE. 


he stood still beside him, as if to show 
that he had been sent by the Lord to 
kill the prophet. 

When the travellers reached the 
city, they told what they had seen; 
and when the old prophet heard it, he 
said, it is the disobedient prophet who 
came here with a message from the 
Lord ; and again he rode out to bring 
him home. He found him, as the 
travellers had, lying dead by the side 
of the road, with the lion still beside 
him. The old man lifted the body of 
the prophet from the ground, and 
placing it on the ass upon which he 
had rode, returned a second time to the 
city ; this time not to feast, but to 
mourn. 

He buried the prophet in his own 


OBEDIENCE. 


75 


tomb, and told his sons that when he 
died he wished to be placed beside 
him. 

“ But, mamma,” said Mary, “ was he 
not very wicked to tell such a lie to 
the poor prophet, who thought all the 
time he was telling the truth ? ” 

44 Yes, he was indeed ; but the poor 
prophet, as you call him, should not 
have heeded him, but obeyed exactly 
what the Lord had said to him , sure 
that if God had intended to alter His 
commands, He would have told him.” 

44 Just as I ought to have remem¬ 
bered what you told , me yesterday,” 
said Joe, 44 and not minded what Will 
said.” 

44 Yes, my boy; and this is the 
lesson I want you to learn from your 


7 6 ' 


OBEDIENCE. 


own experience, and from this story: 
Always obey the commands which are 
given to you, whatever your compan¬ 
ions may say. As you grow older and 
go away from your home, you may be 
told many times that what you have 
been taught to consider wrong .is not 
so. For instance, you may be told that 
there is no harm in going out for your 
own pleasure on the Lord’s day, — that 
it was meant for a day of rest; then 
think what the Lord says : 4 Remember 
the Sabbath-day to keep it holy' You 
will only be safe from sin by inquiring 
what the Lord says to yow, and pray¬ 
ing for His help to obey Him.” 



VII. 

and his ||ofl |jou|jk 

JLJENRY JACKSON lived in a large 
city, where, though there are 
many poor people who suffer from* cold 
and hunger, there are also many others 
to whom God has given the power as 
well as the desire to relieve these suf¬ 
ferings. 

One evening in winter, Henry was 
hastening home, eager to tell his 
mother and sisters all about his day’s 
work at the store where he had just 
entered as youngest clerk, when he 



78 DICK ADD HIS DOG ROUGH. 

saw a boy much younger than himself, 
seated on the steps of a house, crying 
bitterly. It was very cold, and the 
boy’s clothes were thin and ragged, 
and his feet were bare. 

“ Hallo, youngster ! ” said Henry, 
laying his hand on the boy’s shoulder 
as he spoke, “ what ,are you crying 
here for] You had better go home, or 
you’ll freeze to death.” 

44 O my dog is lost! my poor dog! ” 
sobbed the boy ; 44 and now I haven’t 
any friend at all.” 

44 Why,” said Henry, 44 where’s your 
father and mother ] ” 

44 My father is dead, and my mother 
has gone away; and now my dog has 
gone too.” 

44 But don’t you think you had better 


DICK AND HIS DOG ROUGH. 79 


go home now, and look for your dog 
to-morrow ? ” said Henry, who began to 
feel very cold, standing there with the 
wind whistling around him. 

“ But I have no home,” said the 
boy. 

44 Then where do you sleep at 
night?” 

* 

“ O, sometimes under steps to 
houses, sometimes in a barrel; wher¬ 
ever I can find a place,” said the boy, 
who, comforted by Henry’s sympathy, 
had now ceased his crying; “ but 
Bough, my dog, always slept close by 
me and kept me warm.” 

46 Well,” said Henry, 44 come home 
with me and you shall have some sup¬ 
per,” — for he knew that his mother 
was always ready to help the poor, — 


80 DICK AND HIS DOG ROUGH. 

“ and then you can tell me how you lost 
your dog. Perhaps I can help you 
find him.” 

The boy willingly followed his kind 
friend, and in a few minutes they 
reached a small but comfortable house, 
which was Henry’s home. Mrs. Jack- 
son received the poor boy very kindly, 
and took him to the kitchen to get 
some supper. 

After she had returned to the din¬ 
ing-room, and they were seated at the 
tea-table, Henry told all he knew of 
Dick, which was the boy’s name. His 
little sister was very much shocked at 
the idea of any one having to sleep all 
night in the street. “ What are you 
going to do with him to-night, 
Henry ?” she asked. “ I thought I 


DICK AND HIS DOG ROUGH. 81 


would take him to the boys’ lodging- 
house, if mother approves,” was his 
reply. 

“ That will do very well,” said his 
mother, 66 if you are not too tired to 
walk so far. Cannot the boy find the 
way by himself ? ” 

4 4 He might not like to go alone,” 
said Henry, 44 and I feel quite rested 
now.” 

When Henry went to the kitchen to 
see if Dick had finished his supper, 
the pleasant, grateful smile with which 
the boy greeted him was very much 
like one he had seen before. 44 Where 
have I seen you, Dick ? ” he asked. 

44 1 used to sweep a crossing not far 
from here,” he replied, delighted at be¬ 
ing recognized, 44 and you always gave 

me a penny every time you passed.” 

6 



82 DICK AND HIS DOG ROUGH. 


Henry remembered him very well 
now; it was when he was going to- 
school. 44 What made you give up the 
crossing \ ” he asked. 

“ The woman my mother left me 
with when she went away to look for 
work, set me to sweeping it; and 
when I did not bring home many pen¬ 
nies, she beat me so that I ran away 
from her, and then I had no home.” 

44 Then what did you do ? ” said 
Henry. 

44 The first night after I left her I 
slept under a coal-cart, and the next 
day I got a few pennies for* carrying 
home a basket of potatoes for a wo¬ 
man. A few of the potatoes rolled 
out, and she said I might have them ; 
60 I stopped at a blacksmith’s shop. 


DICK AND HIS DOG ROUGH. 83 

and he let me roast them at his fire, 
and said I might sleep there. It was 
nice and warm there, but he turned 
me out after two or three nights. 
Then a boy let me sleep in a shutter- 
box belonging to the shop where he 
worked, after he had put up the shut¬ 
ters for the night.” 

“ But why did you not try to get a 
place to work \ ” 

“ I did; but every one I asked said I 
was too ragged and dirty. But I used 
to get a chance to carry a. basket, or do 
an errand, pretty often, so I most al¬ 
ways had pennies enough to buy some 
bread or potatoes. I tried to save 
them, so 1 could buy a broom or a 
shovel, that I might earn something by 
clearing away the snow; but then I 



84 dick and his dog rough ; 

used to get so hungry I had to buy 
something to eat.” 

“ Will you go with me now to a 
house where poor boys who have no 
home can sleep \ ” said Henry. “ And 
you can tell me the rest of your story 
as we walk along.” 

Dick hesitated; he did’nt want to 
go to the poor-house, he said. “ But 
this is a home provided by kind people 
for poor boys,” said Henry ; “ and you 
needn’t stay there after you see it, un¬ 
less you wish to.” 

Henry had been so kind to him that 
Dick was willing to trust him, so they 
set off together, carrying a bundle of 
Henry’s half-worn clothes, which Mrs. 
Jackson thought might do for some of 
the boys at the lodging-house, if they 
were too large for Dick. 


DICK AND HIS DOG ROUGH. 85 

“ Please, do you think I shall ever 
find my dog \ v said Dick, timidly, as 
they walked along. 

u Perhaps so,” said Henry ; “ we’ll 
see. But tell me, how did you get a 
dog?” 

t; O, he was a poor fellow, running 
about the streets, with no one to care 
for him, and one day I gave him a 
crust; after that he always followed 
me, and I called him Eough. It was 
when I was sleeping in a shutter-box ; 
and one night he made such a scratch¬ 
ing that a policeman opened the door 
to see what it was ; and when he saw 
me, he ordered me out or he would 
take me to the station-house; so I ran 
oif as fast as I could, and Eough fol¬ 
lowed me. When I was too tired to 


86 DICK AND HIS DOG ROUGH 


run any more, I lay down on a door¬ 
step and went to sleep. It was very 
cold, and snowing hard, but Rough 
laid close to me and kept licking my 
hands and face, or I should have 
frozen. Early in the morning a poor 
woman woke me up, and asked me 
why I didn’t go home. When I told 
her I had no home, she was sorry for 
me, and gave me something to eat, and 
said I might sleep the next night in 
the corner of her room, which was in 
a cellar. It was a nice warm bed 
made of shavings, but I could not sleep, 
because Rough was outside, crying in 
the cold. She would not let me bring 
him in, so I would not sleep there 
another night; for I could not leave 
my dog, you know.” 


DICK AND HIS DOG ROUGH. 87 

“How did you lose him at last?” 
asked Henry. 

“ Why, last night I was very hun¬ 
gry, for I had not had any thing to eat 
all day, neither had Eough ; and I was 
standing by a baker’s shop, looking at 
the loaves of bread, and wishing 1 
could buy one, when, all at once, 
Eough ran in and brought me a loaf 
in his mouth. A policeman saw him, 
and caught him and me before we 
could run away, and took us to the 
station-house, and kept us all night. 
I didn’t mind much, for it was warm 
and comfortable there. This morning 
he took me to the court, and told the 
judge that I was a bad boy, who kept a 
dog on purpose to steal for me. Then 
the judge said if I was ever brought 


88 DICK AND HIS DOG ROUGH. 

there again he would send me to 
prison, but that I might go this time. 
They did not let Eough follow me into 
the court-room ; and when I went ont, 
I could not find him. Some boys said 
that they saw a policeman give him to 
a man to drown. I looked for him all 
over the street, but I could not find 
him; and I’m afraid the boys were 
right. O my poor Eough! ” And 
then Dick began to cry again. 

“ Perhaps you will have another 
dog some day,” said Henry; “ and I 
would not cry any more, for here we 
are at the lodging-house.’’ 

Dick followed Henry up two or 
three flights of stairs into a large 
room, crowded with boys, some of them 
almost as ragged as Dick, though they 


DICK AND HIS DOG ROUGH. 89 

all had clean hands and faces. Some 
were reading, others were gathered 
together in groups talking to each 
other. 

Henry led Dick to the superintend¬ 
ent, who was seated at a table near 
the door, and told him a little of his 
story. The room where the boys slept 
was next to the one where they were 
then, and, as it had only been recently 
opened to receive poor boys for the 
night, there was not a large number 
of beds, and at first the superintendent 
said there was not one unoccupied. 

Dick looked very much disappointed 
at hearing this, for his misgivings 
about the place had all vanished as 
soon as he saw the boys so happy, but 
a little fellow who sat near heard what 


90 DICK AND HIS DOG ROUGH 

the superintendent said. “ 0 sir! ” 
he exclaimed, 44 let him have my bed; 
I have had it for several nights, and I 
don’t mind sleeping on the floor.” 

44 How long is it since you have 
slept in a bed, my lad ] ” said the su¬ 
perintendent, addressing Dick. 

44 About three months, sir,” he re¬ 
plied ; 44 and oh! if you will let me 
stay, I will sleep on the floor, or on the 
benches, or anywhere.” 

“Very well,” said the superintend¬ 
ent, 44 then you can stay; ” and 
Henry, much relieved at hearing this, 
left him, promising to come soon again 
and see him. He had a long and cold 
walk to his home; but he did not 
mind it, he was so happy that he had 
been the means of saving a poor boy 



DICK AND HIS DOG ROUGH 91 

from spending another night in the 
street. 

He would have been happier still it 
he could have understood just how 
comfortable Hick was after he had had 
a nice bath, and had lain down in the 
comfortable bed, which the boy who 
had offered it had insisted upon giving 
him. But only one who had known 
what it was to sleep night after night 
on cold stones, or at best on straw 
in barrels, with no change of cloth¬ 
ing, could quite understand Dick’s 
delight. 

The next morning Henry told the 
gentleman in whose store he was em¬ 
ployed about Dick, and interested him 
so much that he persuaded a friend to 
take him as errand-boy in his store, 


92 DICK AND HIS DOG ROUGH. 

and Henry’s fellow-clerks subscribed 
money to buy Dick a suit of clothes. 

He received wages enough to pay 
for a bed in the lodging-house for boys 
which had been established for some 
time in the city, and which was differ¬ 
ent from the temporary refuge where 
he had been at first received. Every 
evening a gentleman came to teach the 
boys, so that Dick learned after a while 
to read and write. Henry also per¬ 
suaded him to go to Sunday school 
with him and to church. 

This poor boy, who had never 
known before what it was to have a 
friend, listened with great delight to 
the story of the Saviour’s love. He 
saw at once that Jesus, who was ready 
to listen to the prayer of the poorest 


DICK AND HIS DOG ROUGH . 93 

and most sinful, was just the Friend 
he wanted, and he gave Him his whole 
heart. He learned to pray to Jesus 
for every thing. 

One evening he found a boy at the 
lodging-house, to whom he had be¬ 
come much attached, feeling discour¬ 
aged because he had been for some 
time unable to find work. 44 Perhaps 
you have not asked the right one to 
give it to you,” said Dick. 44 Don’t 
you remember the verse we read last 
Sunday evening, 4 Ask and ye shall 
receive,’ and how the gentleman told 
us to ask Jesus for every thing l ” The 
boy’s face brightened at once as he 
said, 44 I’ll ask Him.” 44 And so will 
I ” said Dick. 

The next day the boy came running 


94 dick and his dog rough 

up to Dick as he was going out of 
the store to deliver a parcel, and told 
him that a gentleman had just en¬ 
gaged him to go into the country and 
work on his farm. 44 And, Dick,” he 
added, 44 isn’t God good to answer a 
poor fellow’s prayer 1 ” 

It was love for Jesus, and a desire 
to follow His example who went about 
doing good, which had led Henry 
Jackson to take an interest in Dick, 
and to try to do all he could for him; 
so it made him very happy to know 
that Dick had thus learned to love and 
trust the same heavenly Friend. 

Dick’s greatest trouble now was, 
that he had never heard from his 
mother since she left him. He prayed 
very often that he might hear from 


DICK AND HIS DOG ROUGH. 95 

her, and that she might show some 
love and care for him. 

One day he told Henry how anx¬ 
ious he was about it. “ Keep on pray¬ 
ing,” said Henry, “ and if God sees 
best, He will give you your desire.” 
Not long after this, when Henry 
started to go down town one morning, 
he met Dick waiting for him. He ran 
up to him, and exclaimed, joyfully, 
“ I’ve got an answer! I’ve got an an¬ 
swer ! ” and then he went on to ex¬ 
plain that the evening before he had 
received a parcel; on opening it, he 
found it was from his mother. It con¬ 
tained some shirts, a small sum of 
money, and a letter. 

She wrote that she had only lately 
found out where he was; that she 


96 DICK AND HIS DOG ROUGH. 

would not have left him if she had not 
thought the woman would be kind to 
him. She was then living as cook in 
a distant town, but hoped soon to send 
for him to come and see her. 

Oh, how happy Dick was, now that 
he knew that his mother still cared 
for him ! Soon he heard from her 
again; the gentleman in whose family 
she lived came to the city, and, on 
inquiring about Dick of his employer, 
received such good accounts of him 
that he offered to take him home with 
him and give him a place in his store. 

Dick accepted the offer with great 
delight, for then he should be near his 
mother. But he was very sorry to 
leave Henry. As he bade him good- 
by, he said, “ I can never thank you 


DICK AND HIS DOG ROUGH . 97 

enough for all you have done for me. 
What would have become of me if 
you had not spoken to me that night as 
I sat on the steps ] ” 

When Henry told his mother that 
evening of Dick’s parting words, she 
said, “ The Lord sent you to him; ” 
and she added in a low tone, “ Then 
shall the King say, I was a stranger 
and ye took me in. Inasmuch as ye 
have done it unto one of the least of 
these my brethren, ye have done it 
unto me.” 



f 



VIII. 


anti Iter |jolls. 


|y^ELLY BAKER was getting he? 

dolls ready to go to a party at her 
Cousin Hattie’s. 

It was Hattie’s birthday, but the 
party was for one of her dolls which 
had been given to her the year before 
on that day, so it was her birthday too, 
Hattie said. 

Nelly was very anxious that her dolls 
should look as well as possible. Two 
of them had been dressed in Paris, so 
she had only to smooth out their sashes 



NELLY AND HER DOLLS . 


99 


and tie them in fr£sh bows, and they 
were all ready. But her darling May, 
her baby who was now asleep in her 
cradle, had several suits of beautiful 
clothes, and she must be dressed with 
the greatest care. After Nelly had 
chosen what she considered the hand 
somest dress, she found that May’s hat 
would be improved by a little new trim¬ 
ming ; so she went to look among her 
treasures for a piece of ribbon, but she 
could not find any that she thought nice 
enough. 

“ Oh, if sister Emma were only at 
home,” she said to herself, “ perhaps 
she would give me a piece of ribbon, 
as she has so many pretty pieces in 
that box in her closet; and mamma is 
gone, too ! O dear ! what shall I do 


IOO NELLY AND HER DOLLS. 


Then she thought she would just 
look in Emma’s box and see if there 
was any ribbon there that would do. 
Yes, there was a lovely pink, which 
would be so becoming to May! 

Nelly knew that it was not at all cer¬ 
tain that Emma would give it to her, 
even if she were at home ; for she was 
saving all her pieces of ribbon and silk 
to use in working for a fair which was to 
take place soon. But Nelly did not 
want to think of this; the ribbon 
suited her, and she took it. Ah, little 
ones! Nelly is not the only one whom 
the desire for finery has led into sin. 

She went to the sitting-room, where 
she had left her dolls, and, with her 
scissors in her hand, she was about to 
cut the ribbon, when something made 



NELLY AND HER DOLLS. IOI 


her stop. Was it the loud ticking of 
the clock that she heard ? It seemed 
to say, “ Put it back, put it back; ” 
“ You’re a thief, you’re a thief.” 

The clock had been ticking all the 
morning ; why had she not noticed it 
before? Because, now she had been 
doing wrong, her conscience was trou¬ 
bled, and so the clock seemed to speak 
to her. She tried not to listen to it, 
and to say to herself, “ Emma won’t 
care ; ” but it was of no use — the 
clock would go on ticking, saying the 
same words over and over again ; the 
little scissors would not cut, and Nelly 
could not feel happy. Then she did 
the best thing she could. She went 
and put back the ribbon in the place 
from which she had taken it, and knelt 



102 NELLY AND HER DOLLS. 

down in her own little room and asked 
God to forgive her. 

After that, her heart was light again, 
and she was ready to dress her baby 
May in the clean white clothes and em¬ 
broidered frock .which were spread out 
on the chair beside her cradle. She 
had her dinner alone, for her mamma 
and sister had gone away to spend the 
day, and as soon after as possible, she 
started for her Cousin Hattie’s with 
her three dolls. 

She gave a little sigh as she put on 
baby May’s hat without the fresh rib¬ 
bon she had wanted for it; but the baby 
smiled as usual, and looked just as 
happy as if she had ten yards of new 
ribbon on her hat, and Nelly soon for¬ 
got all about it, as she could not have 



NELLY AND HER DOLLS . 


103 


done if she had kept her sister’s rib¬ 
bon ; for then the uncomfortable feel¬ 
ing that she had been doing wrong 
would have made her unhappy- all the 
time. 

Hattie was delighted^ to see her, and 
admired the dolls as she led her to the 
summer-house in the garden, where 
the tea-party was to be held. 

The little tea-things were all ready 
to set out on the little table, and the 
children had a very happy time in 
arranging them. There were eight 
dolls in all: Nelly’s three, and two of 
Hattie’s beside the one who had the 
party, and two belonging to Hattie’s lit¬ 
tle sister Maggie, who was much de¬ 
lighted in being allowed to help in set¬ 
ting the table. 




104 NELLY AND HER DOLLS. 

They had a very merry time, teach* 
ing the dolls how to behave, feeding 
them, and eating all that they left. 
Then, when the feast was over, they 
all went to swing, and played under 
the trees, until their own tea-time came. 

When Nelly reached home, she 
found her mamma there to welcome 
her, and to hear all about the happy 
time she had at cousin Hattie’s. 




IX. 



m 


A HAPPY party of children were on 
their way one frosty afternoon to 
a sugar-maple grove, where their fathers 
and brothers were making sugar from 
the sap which they had collected from 
the trees. 

« 

“ Perhaps they’ll let us have some 
sap to boil for ourselves,” said one. 

“ Oh, I hope they will!” said another, 
64 and we can take it down by the 
side of the brook and make a fire ; 
then, while it is boiling, we can slide.” 



* io6 THE SELFISH BOY. 

They all agreed that this was a 
splendid plan, and were merrier than 
ever over the thought of the nice time 
they would have. The sugar-makers 
at the grove were very willing to please 
the children, so they not only gave 
them some sap, but lent them an iron 
pot to boil it in. 

It did not take long to make a fire 
by the brook, which was near the grove, 
and the sap was put on to boil. 

There was only one drawback to the 
pleasure of the party, and that was the 
selfishness of one of their number. 
His name was Johnny Wells. He 
would not help to gather the sticks for 
the fire, nor carry the kettle, nor stir the 
sap. While the rest were at work, he 
amused himself by sliding on the brook, 


THE SELFISH BOY. 


I07 

which was frozen hard. He seemed to 
like this very well, until his little sister 
came to him and asked him to hold her 
hand while she tried to slide. Then 
he said it was too cold, and he was 
tired ; so he left the ice, and, wrapping 
his coat closely about him, went and 
stood by the side of the brook with his 
hands in his pockets. 

How different from Fred Niles! 
He took his little sister on the ice and 
held her hand while she had some 
famous slides. He was not cold ; for 
he had love and kindness in his heart, 
and that warmed him all over. 

An old man, who lived in a little 
house on the road to the grove, — 
Uncle Ben the children called him, — 
crossed the bridge with a load of sticks 


io8 


THE SELFISH BOY. 


while the children were by the brook. 
As soon as he saw Johnny shivering 
there, he understood what the matter 
was. He called out to him to run 
about and help the other children. 
“ It’s your selfishness makes you cold,” 
said he. And I think Uncle Ben was 
right; don’t you? 

The rest of the party were deter¬ 
mined not to feel cold from the same 
cause; for as soon as the sap was 
boiled enough, and they had spread it 
on the snow to cool, they gave Johnny 
Wells as much as any of them had, 
though he had not helped them at all. 


X. 




was a very stormy, windy night, 
and the boys at Farmer Haywood’s 
were glad to gather around the blazing 
wood fire in the kitchen, where the 
crackling and roaring of the burning 
hickory logs formed a pleasant contrast 
to the whistling of the wind and the 
dashing of the rain against the win¬ 
dows. 

The farmer was seated on one side 
of the fire-place, by a small table 
which held a candle, by the light of 






I io GIVE THE BOV A LIGHT. 


which he read his weekly newspaper, 
while his wife, industriously knitting, 
listened to such items of intelligence 
as he read aloud to her, when the loud 
talking of the boys permitted his voice 
to be heard. They had some excuse 
for being noisy on this night, and their 
parents did not check them; for their 
cousin Robert had just arrived from 
the city to make them a short visit, 
and they had a great deal to tell each 
other. A bag of chestnuts had been 
kept especially for this occasion, and 
they were roasting them in the ashes 
in company with some fall pippins. 

The reading and talking were sud¬ 
denly interrupted by a knock at the 
door. 

“ Who can that be 1 ” said one of 
the boys. 



“ Some beggar, very likely,” said 
another. 

“ I hope he will not ask to stay all 
night,” said a third, who did not want 
to have their merry party spoiled by 
the addition of a stranger. 

“ Whoever it is, he must not be 
kept standing in the rain,” said the 
farmer, as he rose to open the door. 
Every one listened to hear who was 
there. 

“ Please, sir, give me a light,” 
sounded a childish voice from out of 
the darkness. 

“ Come in, come in,” said the 
farmer ; “ for I can’t see who you are, 
or where you are standing.” 

In an instant a boy about eleven 
years of age stepped inside the door 


11 2 GIVE THE BOY A LIGHT. 

and followed Mr. Haywood into the 
kitchen. In his hand he held a lan¬ 
tern, but there was no light in it. 

“ Come to the fire, my boy,” said 
Mrs. Haywood ; “ your clothes must 
be very wet.” 

“ Thank you, ma’am,” he replied; 
“but I cannot stop, for mother will 
be anxious. I was kept later than 
usual at my work; and as I was hurry¬ 
ing along, the wind blew my light out. 
I should not have troubled you, but I 
was afraid, if I tried to go on in the 
dark, I might walk off into the mill- 
race by the side of the road beyond.” 

“ I am glad that you called,” said 
the farmer, as he handed him his lan¬ 
tern with the lamp brightly burning. 
“ I have fastened the door of the lan 


GIVE THE BOY A LIGHT. \ 13 

tern so that the wind cannot blow it 
open again.” 

With many thanks the boy went on 
his way, and Mr. Haywood returned to 
his paper. 

“ That was a little fellow to be out 
alone in such a storm,” said he ; “ do 
you know him, wife ? ” 

“ I think he is widow Lester s son,” 
said Mrs. Haywood; “ and I have seen 
him at work for the shoemaker in the 
village.” 

“ Has he far to go \ ” asked Cousin 
Robert. 

“ No, only about a quarter of a 
mile; but it is a bad part of the road, 
and I am glad that he has a light. 
The village from which he came is 
about half a mile.” 

8 


114 GIVE THE BOY A LIGHT. 

“Boys,” said Mr. Haywood, laying 
down his paper, “ I want to tell you 
what this has made me think of.” 

In an instant the boys were all at¬ 
tention, expecting one of father’s sto¬ 
ries. But this time it was only one of 
his talks, which they liked almost as 
well. 

“ There are a great many poor 
boys,” said he, “ who need a light even 
more than young Lester did. He 
feared that he could not find his way 
to his earthly home without one ; but 
they know nothing of the light which 
will guide them to their heavenly 
home. Do you understand what I 
mean, boys \ ” 

“Yes, father,” said George, the 
eldest, “ you mean they know nothing 


GIVE THE BOY A LIGHT. 115 

of Jesus, who is the light of the 
world.” 

4; Or of the Bible, which is the light 
to teach them of Him. James Lester 
knew he was in darkness, and asked 
for a light; but those who are in dark¬ 
ness because they are in ignorance do 
not always know their need of light, 
and so we must not wait for them to 
ask us for light, but send or give it to 
them.” 

“ I think the boys whom I see play¬ 
ing in the street sometimes on my way 
to Sunday school must need a light,” 
said Cousin Robert. 

44 Yes,” said his uncle, 44 and if you 
could persuade them to go with you to 
Sunday school, that would be one way 
to give them light.” 


116 GIVE THE BOY A LIGHT 

44 I mean to try when I go home,” 
said Robert. 

“ But what can we do, father] ” said 
another of the boys. 44 Almost every 
one goes to Sunday school and church 
about here.” 

44 You can see if there are any who 
do not,” said his father, 44 and persuade 
them; and you can earn and save 
money to send Bibles and missionaries 
to other places to teach the ignorant 
of the way to heaven.” 

44 But,” said their mother, 44 what 
would you have thought of James 
Lester, if we had seen him walking 
without a light, and, when we offered 
it to him, he had refused to take it ] ” 

44 Why, that he was a foolish fellow, 
of course,” said another boy. 



GIVE THE BOY A LIGHT. 117 

“ Then, my dear boys, be sure that 
you are not as foolish,” continued their 
mother. 46 You have the light; let it 
guide you. Study your Bibles, that 
you may learn more and more of Je¬ 
sus ; follow Him, and he will lead you 
to the home He has provided.” 




o DEAR, dear! how cold it is!’ 
said Mary Graham, as she lay 
in bed one morning, trying to get cour¬ 
age enough to rise. It was just light 
enough for her to see that the panes 
of glass in the one small window 
which the room ‘contained were cov¬ 
ered with frost; she remembered to 
have heard the snow pelting against it 
in the night, though she did not hear 
it now. 

“ I wish some kind fairy would 




KIND TOM MATTHEWS. 119 

come and make the fire for me, and 
then go to the spring for water,” she 
thought. And then she glanced at 
the pale face of her mother, who was 
sleeping by her side, and remembered 
how many cold mornings she had risen 
and made the fire and prepared the 
breakfast for her, and never wakened 
her until every thing was ready. 

Ah! love was the kind fairy which 
had led her mother to do all this for 
her ; and now love would lead Mary 
to do the same for her mother, who 
was sick and wearied with labor. So, 
hesitating no longer about braving the 
cold, Mary crept softly from the bed, 
and hastened to dress, determined to 
have every thing provided for her 
mother’s comfort before she awojte. 




120 KIND TOM MATTHEWS, 

She quietly closed the door after her 
as she went into the adjoining room, 
which served them for kitchen as well 
as sitting-room, and when she had kin¬ 
dled a fire in the stove with the wood 
which she had placed there the night 
before, she threw a shawl over her 
head, took two large stone jugs, and 
started to fill them at the spring. 

Tom Matthews, who lived very near 
Mary, had awakened about the same 
time; but his first thought when he 
saw the frosty window-panes and re¬ 
membered about the snow, was, “ Oh, 
what a jolly cold morning ! won’t there 
be fun though, skating and snowball¬ 
ing \ ” 

He did not care if his fingers were 
sc numb that he could hardly button 


KIND TOM MATTHEWS. 121 

liis jacket; he thought only of hurry¬ 
ing, that he might have time before 
breakfast to run to the pond, to find 
out if the ice were thick enough for 
skating. 

The savory smell of the nice break¬ 
fast that was being cooked came from 
the kitchen as he came down stairs ; 
but he rushed from the house, calling 
to his mother that he would be back in 
a few minutes. 

He had not taken many steps when 
he met Mary Graham, on her way to 
the spring with her two stone jugs. 

44 Hallo, little one ! ” said he, 44 you 
look half frozen. Don’t you like the 
cold weather \ Here, let me take 
your load.” And he lifted the heavy 
jugs as if they were feathers, and 


■ 


122 KIND TOM MATTHEWS. 

strode along before her to the 
spring. 

Mary smiled at the idea of being 
called “ little one ” by Tom, who was 
no taller than herself, though she 
could not help acknowledging that he 
was very much stronger; for he did 
not seem to mind carrying the pitch¬ 
ers, which had already made her arms 
ache. 

She did not say any thing, though, 
for she felt too cold to talk; besides 
she was a little shy of Tom, for she 
had seen him pass her mother’s house 
so often running and shouting, that 
she thought him a very rough boy. 
She did not know that, although he 
he was fond of play and of making a 
noise, he had learned from his gentle, 



KIND TOM MATTHEWS. 


I23 


loving mother to be kind and tender to 
all those weaker than himself, and that 
all the while he was walking with her 
he was pitying her, because she looked 
so cold and delicate, and was wonder 
ing what more he could do to help 
her. Before he could make up his 
mind, they had reached the spring, and 
he proceeded to fill her pitchers. 

This spring, which was a great bless¬ 
ing to the neighborhood, had its home 
far off among the hills; the water 
came trickling along underground, un¬ 
til it found an outlet through a bank 
on Farmer Matthews’ land. Finding 
what good water it was, and that it 
never failed, he had laid pipes under¬ 
ground for it to run through, and had 
built a stone wall against the bank, 


124 KIND TOM MATTHEWS. 

and then a spout had been inserted, 
and now all day and night long 
through winter and summer, the water 
ran freely for all who chose to come 
for it. Tom was just filling Mary’s 
second jug when two other girls came 
for water. One was a strong, hearty 
lass, who worked for one of the far¬ 
mers in the neighborhood. She 
seemed to enjoy the cold weather as 
much as Tom did, and laughed when 
he offered to fill her pails for her. 

44 No, no ! ” said she. 44 1 am strong 
enough to do it for myself; but I’ll 
wait, if you like, while you fill Hattie 
Lee’s pail, for she looks half frozen, as 
well as Mary.” 

So Hattie’s pail was filled, and Mary 
insisted upon helping her carry it; for 


KIND TOM MATTHEWS. 125 

they passed her house on the way 
home, and Tom would not let her 
touch one of her pitchers. They were 
rather heavier now they were tilled 
with water. “ I wonder why she don’t 
take a pail to the spring,” he thought; 
“ it would be so much handier.” 

Mary might have told him that the 
only pail her mother owned had fallen 
to pieces this frosty weather, and no 
money could be spared to buy another. 
He said nothing, however, of what 
was passing in his mind, but deposited 
the pitchers at Mrs. Graham’s door, 
and ran home with Mary’s softly-spo¬ 
ken “ Thank you, Tom,” sounding 
pleasantly in his ears all the way. 

There was no time to visit the pond 
this morning, for the family were all at 


12 6 KIND TOM MA TTHEWS. 

the breakfast-table when he came in. 
His mother smilingly shook her head 
as he took his seat. 

“ I thought how it would be,” she 
said ; 44 first one slide and then another, 
until you forgot how the time passed.” 

44 Mother, I have not been near the 
pond this morning! ” exclaimed Tom, 
eager to defend himself. And then he 
told, in as few words as possible, what 
had kept him. 

When he saw his mother’s eyes 
glisten with pleasure as she smiled her 
approval, Tom felt quite repaid for 
his small sacrifice. He felt very much 
relieved that she only said, 44 1 am very 
glad that you were able to be kind to 
Mary; I must see what can be done 
for Mrs. Graham; ” for he disliked to 


KIND TOM MATTHEWS. \ 27 

have a fuss made about what he 
did. 

Mrs. Matthews was not contented 
with merely wishing to do good ; her 
acts were sure to follow her resolu¬ 
tions. So Mary and her mother were 
hardly seated at their frugal breakfast 
of tea and toast, which it had taken 
some time to prepare after Mary’s re¬ 
turn, when Tom again made his ap¬ 
pearance at the door. Mary answered 
his knock, and he handed her a basket, 
saying, “ Mother thought you might 
like this; ” and ran off before she 
could thank him. 

The hot cakes and nicely cooked 
meat which the basket contained, were 
a great treat, and the kind thought¬ 
fulness which had sent it caused a 


128 KIND TOM MATTHEWS. 

warm glow in Mrs. Graham’s heart 
which remained there all day. 

The next morning Mrs. Matthews 
came to see her. She knew that Mrs. 
Graham would be the better for a lit¬ 
tle change, she said, and she wanted 
her and Mary to come and stay with 
her a few weeks. She would take no 
refusal. So Mary and her mother 
went to the farm-house the next day, 
and Mrs. Graham was so much ben¬ 
efited by the kind nursing and nour¬ 
ishing food which she received there, 
that when she returned to her home 
she was quite restored to health, and 
able to work once more at her trade 
of dressmaking. 

Thus Tom and his mother obeyed 
the Scripture precept: “ As we have 


KIND TOM MATTHEWS. 


I29 


opportunity, let us do good unto all 
men, but especially unto such as are of 
the household of faith.” 

Tom might have carelessly passed 
by Mary on her way to the spring, and 
thus lost his opportunity of helping 
her, and bringing gladness to his own 
heart by the consciousness of having 
done a kind act. 

If Mrs. Matthews had been satisfied 
with merely feeling sorry for Mrs. Gra- 
ham and wishing to be kind to her, 
instead of giving her the rest and re¬ 
freshment of a visit to her plentiful 
and well-ordered home, she would have 
missed the opportunity of doing good 
to one of Christ’s suffering ones, a 
member with herself of the household 
of faith. 


9 



“ "QING-a -ling-a-ling-a-ling! ” sound 
ed the bell, just as Ella Hughes 
had turned her head upon her pillow 
for another morning nap. 

“ O dear ! ” she said to herself; “ now 
I suppose I must get up, or I shall he 
late for breakfast and for school. It 
seems to me that I never was so sleepy 
before.” As she opened her eyes, they 
rested upon the cause of her unusual 
sleepiness; there it was upon a table 
near her, — a book with a brown cover, 






THE STOLEN PLEASURE. 13 I 

which looked as if it had passed 
through a great many hands. One 
of her schoolmates had lent it to her, 
and she had found the story it con¬ 
tained so interesting that she had sat 
up to read it the night before, long 
after every one else was in bed. She 
thought how nice it would be if she 
were only as rich and beautiful as the 
heroine of the story; and after being 
up late at night, could remain in bed 
as long as she liked, and have her 
breakfast brought to her there if she 
wished. She hoped that she could 
when she was grown up; she wished 
she was a lady now; she was tired of 
being a little girl and having to go to 
school, and to do as she was told ; she 
wished she could have her own way. 


132 THE STOLEN PLEAS NEE. 


She became so much interested in 
* these foolish thoughts that she forgot 
that the bell had rung to warn her that 
it was time to get up, until she heard 
her brothers pass her door on their way 
to the dinning-room. Then she knew 
that she had no time to lose; so she 
sprang up hastily, hid the book in her 
closet under a pile of clothes, and com¬ 
menced to dress as fast as possible. 
She knew that it was not a book of 
which her mother would approve, so 
she took that means of hiding it from 
her; but she felt ill at ease, and when 
the breakfast-bell rang some time be¬ 
fore she was dressed, she felt too cross 
to wish to see any one. The teasing 
remarks of her brothers at her laziness 
as she entered the dining-room did not 



THE STOLEN PLEA SURE. 133 

improve her temper, and the grave 
looks of her father, showing that hJ 
was displeased at her tardiness, made 
her feel very unhappy. 

She had a long walk to school, so 
she had to start as soon as she had 
finished breakfast, and had no time to 
look over her lessons. She had hur¬ 
ried through them so the day before, in 
order to have time to read her bor¬ 
rowed book, that she was by no means 
sure that she knew them. She felt rest¬ 
less and dissatisfied ; and as the recita¬ 
tions followed each other in quick 
succession, and she failed in every one, 
she was extremely mortified, for she 
had always prided herself upon being 
one of the best scholars in school. 

When school was over, she hastened 


2 


134 THE ST0LEN pleasure . 

home, hoping to forget all that had 
$Sbeen disagreeable in reading the story 
which had charmed her so much. She 
had left it the night before in a most 
exciting place, and she was so anxious 
to know how all the people got out of 
their troubles, that she determined to 
wait until evening to study her lessons, 
and spend the afternoon in reading. 
When she entered the house, She was 
told that her mother had gone out, and 
her brothers had not come in from play ; 
so she had no one to interfere with 
her. 

She took the book from her closet, 
and as it was a warm and pleasant day 
early in summer, she went to a retired 
corner of a grove near the house, 
where she thought no one could find 


THE STOLEN PLEASURE, 


135 


her. Her efforts at concealment were 
evidence that she felt she was doing 
wrong ; but she quieted her conscience 
by saying that she was not disobeying 
any positive commands ; for her mother 
had never forbidden her to read the 
book, because she never had seen it. 

Ella seated herself on the ground in 
the shade, and was soon so absorbed in 
the story that she did not even notice 
her pet rabbit, who, free to run where 
he chose, had followed her to her hid¬ 
ing-place, to be fed from her hand as 
usual. 

She had almost finished the book, 
when she was startled by hearing her 
name called, and looking up, there 
stood her mother close beside her! 

u Why, Ella, my child y I did not know 


136 THE STOLEN FLEASURE. 

you were here. I came home just after 
your school was out, with your uncle 
Charles, whom I had met as he w^as 
coming to invite us to take a drive with 
him. Maria said you had gone out 
again after you had left your school¬ 
books in the house; but I thought it 
was so unlike you to go out and not 
leave any message for me, that I could 
not believe it; so I sent her to look for 
you, and called you everywhere ; and 
then, as you did not make your appear 
ance, I had to go without you. I was 
very sorry, for we drove to the beach, 
and it was lovely there.” 

Ella was terribly disappointed, for 
it was seldom that her uncle had time 
to take her to drive; she wished that 
she had never seen the book. 


THE STOLEN FLEAS NEE. 137 

u Then when I came home again,” 
continued her mother, 44 and Maria said 
she had not seen you yet, I was sure 
you must be somewhere about the 
place, and so I came to look for you, 
and here I have found you at last 
You must have a very difficult lesson to 
take you so long to learn. Let me see 
it.” 

Ella knew it was lifeless to try any 
further concealment, so she rose and 
handed the book to her mother, who 
looked at it as they walked toward the 
house together. Her face became very 
grave as she read the title. 

44 Why, Ella! where did you get 
this ? ” she asked; 44 and how long have 
you had it ? ” 

4 ' Mary Starr lent it to me yester- 


138 THE STOLEN PLEA SURE. 


day,” said Ella, speaking in a very low 
tone. 

“ And it was for this silly trash that 
you have lost a pleasant ride, displeased 
your father by being late this morning, 
and disregarded your mother’s wishes ?” 
said Mrs. Hughes ; “ and your lessons, 
— what has become of them ] ” 

Ella burst into tears at the remem¬ 
brance of her dftappointment and mor¬ 
tification. “ I wish I had never seen 
the book,” said she, as soon as her sobs 
would allow her to speak. “ It has 
only caused me trouble ; why did Mary 
Starr lend it to me 1 ” 

“ But you need not have taken it,” 
said her mother, seating herself on the 
piazza, and putting her arm around the 
sobbing child. 


THE STOLEN PLEASURE. 139 

“ I did not ask her for it,” said Ella. 
“ She offered it, and I did not like to 
refuse, just when I had said, too, that 
I liked to read story-books.” 

“ If you had shown the book to me, 
my child,” replied Mrs. Hughes, “ as I 
have so often told you to do before read¬ 
ing any thing, I would have told you 
that it was a silly novel, not fit for you 
to read, and you coi$d have returned 
it; but I fear that you have concealed 
it from me purposely, fearing that I 
would take it from you. Go to your 
room now and think quietly about it, 
and this evening you can tell me if you 
wish to finish reading it.” 

Ella obeyed, for she really desired to 
follow her mother’s wishes always, 
though her resolutions were often 


140 THE STOLEN PLEAS URE. 

broken because she made them in 
her own strength, without asking 
God’s help in keeping them. As she 
sat by the window in her room, and 
thought over the mortifications and 
disappointments of the day, she made 
up her mind that she had paid very 
dearly for the small pleasure of read¬ 
ing, and that another time she would 
trust her mother, who always knew 
best. 

The calm, pleasant face Ella pre¬ 
sented at the tea-table was very differ¬ 
ent from the cross, dissatisfied expres 
sion which she had worn in the morn¬ 
ing ; and after tea she begged her 
mother to keep the book which had 
caused her so much unhappiness, until 
she was going to school the next day, 



THE STOLEN PLEASURE . 141 

that she might not be tempted to read 
any more before returning it to the 
owner. She studied so diligently that 
evening that she learned all her lessons 
before her usual bed-time. When she 
kissed her mother for good-night, she 
whispered, “ I always mean to do as 
you wish after this.” 

“ With God’s help,” added her 
mother, as she returned her loving 
embrace. 



XIII. 




“ JpALLO, Peter! are you going 
skating this afternoon \ ” called 
one of the boys to Peter Temple, as he 
was hurrying away from the school- 
house one winter’s afternoon ; “ the 
ice is splendid now.” 

“To be sure I am,” said Peter; “ I 
wouldn’t miss it for any thing; but I’m 
going home after my skates.” 

“ Well, hurry up, then,” said his 
companion, “ and I’ll wait for you at 
the corner.” 





PETER'S VISIT. 


*43 


“ O no L don’t wait,” said Peter; 
“ I’ll come down to the pond as soon 
as I can.” 

Peter hastened down the lane which 
led to his home, rushed into the din¬ 
ing-room to leave his books, and was 
going out with the same speed to the 
wood-shed where his skates were kept, 
when he saw a nice piece of mince pie 
standing on the stove. 

“ Ah ! mother has put that there to 
keep warm for me, I know,’’ said he ; 
“ it’s lucky I told Bob not to wait for 
me, for now I can stay long enough to 
eat it.” So he helped himself to a 
knife and fork from the closet, and took 
his seat by the fire to enjoy his pie. 
He had not quite eaten it all, when his 
mother came in. 


i 4 4 


PETER'S VISIT 


44 Ah, my boy ! ” said she, 44 I am 
glad to see you at home in such good 
time, for I want you to do an errand 
for me.” 

44 O mother! ” said Peter, implor¬ 
ingly ; “I was just going skating, and 
the ice is so splendid; won’t to-morrow 
morning do as well ] ” 

44 1 will tell you what I want you to 
do, 5 ’ said his mother, 44 and then you 
can judge for yourself. Little Jenny 
Timson told me yesterday at Sunday 
school that her brother Sam, who has 
been ill a long time, was much worse, 
and could scarce eat any thing at all. 
When I asked her how he liked the 
jelly which I had sent him some time 
ago, she said he had not had any thing 
since that he liked as well, and that he 


PETER'S VISIT. 


MS 

had been wishing for more only that 
very morning; so I told her that I would 
send some as soon as possible. I have 
been busy all the morning making it, 
in the hope that you would take it to 
him this afternoon. Jerry has had to 
go to the mill, and your father is in 
the city, so there is no one else to go 
with it. Still, if you feel as if you 
could not give up your skating, the 
jelly can wait, though I know that 
Sam would be very glad to have it this 
afternoon.” 

Peter stood silent and irresolute. 
He wanted to oblige his mother, who 
was so kind to care for his comfort; 
but then how could he miss the skat¬ 
ing ? and there had been so little of it 
this winter. His mother watched him 
io„ 


146 


PETER'S VISIT. 


anxiously for a few moments, and then 
said: — 

44 Do you remember, my son, who it 
was who said, 4 1 was sick, and ye 
visited me; ’ and 4 Inasmuch as ye 
have done it unto one of the least of 
these my brethren, ye have done it 
unto me?”’ 

44 Why, mother ! ” exclaimed Peter, 
in surprise; 44 1 thought that meant to 
go and read the Bible to sick people, 
and pray with them ; not such a little 
thing as to carry jelly to them.” 

44 The text does not say so,” said his 
mother; 44 the words are merely, c I 
was sick, and ye visited me.’ I think 
the dear Saviour accepts as an offering 
to Himself the smallest favor done to 
any one who is sick, if we do it for his 
sake; and you know the promise.” 


PETER'S VISIT. 


x 47 


Motner, I’ll go,” said Peter, decid¬ 
edly ; “ the ice will keep until to-mor¬ 
row, I guess. Where is the jelly'?” 
And he seemed in as great a haste to 
put on his overcoat and be off, as he 
had been to get his skates only a short 
time before. 

“ Here is the jelly,” said his mother, 
“ all packed nicely in a basket; but it 
is more than two miles to Mrs. Tim- 
son’s, and you had better go on Ned ; 
then, perhaps, you will be back in time 
to skate a little while.” 

u I do not care now T whether I am 
or not. I would rather take the jelly, 
but I am glad I can ride Ned.” And 
Peter ran to the stable to saddle the 
horse. This was soon done, and then 
coming to the door, he took the basket 


148 PETER'S VISIT. 

from his mother, and promising to 
carry it very carefully, started on his 
errand of mercy. 

He felt very happy as he rode along, 
because he had, at the last, complied 
cheerfully with his mother’s request. 
It would have been different if he had 
gone unwillingly. Then the words 
which his mother had quoted were 
still in his mind. He knew the verses 
very well, for he had learned them to 
say to his Sunday-school teacher only 
a few weeks before, and he said over 
to himself the promise to which his 
mother had referred: “ Come, ye 
blessed of my Father, inherit the king¬ 
dom prepared for you from the foun 
dation of the world.” It seemed such 
a little thing to be called blessed for, — 


PETER'S VISIT. 


H9 


just taking some jelly to a poor sick 
boy, and yet his mother had said it 
was just such small services the Sa¬ 
viour meant. 

He was so glad that he was able to 
do it, it made him happier than all the 
skating in the world could have done. 
Mrs. Timson came to the door herself, 
as he rode up. 44 Yes; I knew your 
mother would send it,” she said, as he 
told her what he had brought. 44 If 
there ever was a woman who seemed 
to love to be doing for other folks 
she’s one. She is always sending 
something. Now here’s a plate that 
she sent a nice pie on for Sam last 
week. I haven’t had a chance to 
send it home before, so maybe you 
can take it back in your basket. 


PETERS VISIT 


*5° 

Can’t you come in while I unpack the 
jelly ? It will brighten Sam up won¬ 
derfully to see you.” 

Peter had a boy’s natural shrinking 
from the sight of suffering in any 
form; and perhaps at any other time 
he might have made some excuse ; but 
now he had learned that visiting the 
sick was a higher, nobler work than 
he had ever thought it before, so he 
could not refuse Mrs. Timson’s invita¬ 
tion. He tied his horse to the fence 
near the door, and followed little 
Jenny, who had been standing by her 
mother’s side by the door, as she led 
the way to Sam’s room. He was 
seated in an easy-chair, looking very 
pale and thin, but peaceful and con¬ 
tented, as if he knew that Jesus loved 
him. 


PETER'S VISIT. 


IS* 

He was a little older than Peter, but 
he had gone to the same school before 
he had been taken sick, and now he 
was anxious to hear all about the boys 
and the teacher. As Peter told him 
of the various things which had hap 
pened since he had been there, he was 
so much interested and so animated 
that Peter could hardly realize that he 
had been for many weeks shut up in 
that one room, and might not leave it 
again until Jesus called him home. 

When Peter saw how much Sam 
seemed to enjoy the nice cold jelly, — 
for his mother had given him some as 
soon as she had taken it from the 
basket, — he wondered how he could 
have hesitated about bringing it to 
him; and though it was quite dark 


152 


PETER'S VISIT. 


when he reached home, and so too late 
for any skating, he did not regret hav¬ 
ing spent his afternoon in visiting the 
sick. 





XIV. 




fkf 


ik 


o ne afternoon, early in December, 
Roger Harris and his brother Joe 
returned from school by a short cut 
through the woods. They often went 
that way in summer, for it was so much 
cooler and pleasanter under the shade 
of the grand old trees than in the dusty 
road ; but they did not choose it very 
often in winter, the trees looked so 
bare and desolate, stripped of their 
eaves, and the wind sounded so 
mournfully as it whistled through the 




154 A UNT SALL rs WOOD-PILE . 

branches. They did not notice it much 
this afternoon, for they were in haste to 
be at home in time to learn their les¬ 
sons before tea; their mother had 
promised them a candy frolic that 
evening, and they had invited some of 
the boys of the neighborhood to join 
them. They thought it great fun aftdr 
the molasses was boiled just right, and 
cool enough to handle, to pull and pull 
the mixture until it was almost white. 

As the boys hurried along, the dry 
leaves crackling under their feet as 
they walked, — “ the only pleasant 
thing about the woods in winter,” 
Roger said, — they passed near a clear¬ 
ing on which was built a small house, 
where an old woman lived whom every 
body called Aunt Sally. Her son had 


A UNT SALL Y'S WOOD-PILE. 155 

bought the land and built the house for 
himself and mother, and they were very 
comfortable there as long as he lived; 
for he earned enough to supply all 
their wants by working for the farmers 
in the hayfields in summer, and chop¬ 
ping wood in winter. It was a very 
sad day for his mother when he was 
brought home dead, killed by the fall¬ 
ing of a tree ; sad, for she not only lost 
his love and care, but she often after 
that found it hard to get food enough 
to eat, and fuel to' keep her warm; for 
she was too old to do much work. Yet, 
she said, the Lord had never left her 
to suffer want; but had always sent 
her aid when she was most in need, in 
answer to her earnest prayer. 

She was right in thinking that the 


156 A UNT SAIL V>S WOOD-PILE . 

loving Father, who feedeth the fowls 
of the air, would care for her, though 
she was such a poor old woman. No 
doubt he directed the steps of these 
boys to this path, near her cottage, 
that they might be reminded that there 
was one of His creatures for whose 
wants they might provide. She was 
picking up the dead branches of the 
trees which the wind had scattered on 
the ground when they saw her. 

“ Why, Aunt Sally,” said Roger, 
“ this is too cold a day for you to be 
out.” 

“ Yes, it is very cold,” was her re¬ 
ply ; “ but it is colder sitting in the 
house without a fire, and as my wood 
is all burned up, I have come out to 
see what I can find to burn under the 
trees.” 


A UNT SALL FS WOOD-PILE. 157 

u Let us help you, then” said 
Joe. 

The brothers threw down their 
books, filled their arms with sticks, and 
carried them off to Aunt Sally’s wood¬ 
shed. This they did several times, 
and then, gathering up their books 
again, they hurried off toward home 
without waiting for Aunt Sally’s 
thanks. 

They had not gained much in time 
by taking the short cut through the 
woods, and they would have to study 
very hard to be able to learn their les¬ 
sons before evening; but they had 
gained light, happy hearts, which al¬ 
ways belong to those who do kind 
deeds of mercy. 

“ It is too bad,” said Roger, as they 


158 A UNT SALL Y’S WOOD-PILE. 

walked toward home, “ that no one 
has sent Aunt Sally a load of wood yet. 
There’s Uncle Silas; he has enough 
cut and piled in his woods, ready for 
hauling, to keep a dozen families warm 
this winter ; and he might send her 
some.” 

“ Yes,” said Joe, “ he might,” in a 
tone which implied that Uncle Silas 
was not likely to do any thing of the 
kind. Though he had one of the 
largest and best farms in the neighbor¬ 
hood, nothing that it produced ever 
went into any other house or barn than 
his own, except he received its full 
value in some other commodity or in 
money. 

“ I mean to ask him, any way,” said 
Roger. 


A UNT SALL Y’S WOOD- PILE . 159 

“ You’d better not,” said Joe ; “ he 
may be angry.” 

• “ I don’t care if he is,” replied his 
brother. “ I will do it the first chance 
I get.” 

The chance came sooner than he 
expected. That very evening, while 
the boys were in the midst of their 
fun, just a& the candy was ready to be 
pulled, who should come in but Uncle 
Silas. He enjoyed a frolic as well as 
any boy, and he was soon one of the 
gayest of the party. Roger, who had 
not forgotten his resolution, thought 
this a good time to make his request; 
and Joe quite accidentally gave him 
the opportunity, by proposing that 
they should take some candy to Aunt 
Sally the next morning. 



l6o AUNT SALLY'S WOOD-PILE. 


“ Nonsense! ” said Uncle Silas, who 
overheard him ; “ what would such an 
old woman care for candy \ ” 

44 No,” said Roger, 44 I am sure she 
would rather have a load of wood. 
Only think, Uncle Silas! we saw her 
this bitter cold afternoon picking up 
what brush-wood she could find about 
on the ground. Joe and I helped her, 
so that she has now enough to last 
through this evening ; but her wood¬ 
shed is empty, and you know that 
brush-wood does not give much heat.” 

“ Well, let her go to the county 
poor-house, then,” said Uncle Silas ; 
44 there’s fire enough ; and I think she 
would be much more comfortable 
there.” 

44 O Uncle Silas ! ” said Roger; “ she 


A UNT SALL Y'S WOOD-PILE . 161 


would not like to leave that nice house 
her son built for her; besides, she’s too 
respectable to go to the poor-house. 
You have so much wood piled up in 
your woods, I think you might give 
her a load.” 

“You do, do you!” said Uncle 
Silas, astonished at the boy’s audacity. 
“Well, I don’t see why I should give 
her a load of wood any more than any 
one else. I guess if you had to work 
as I do, you would not talk so much 
about giving away what you had 
earned. But come, now, I’ll make 
you an offer. Yesterday, when I was 
at Delville, Squire Reed’s lady asked 
me to get some Christmas greens to 
dress the church and Sunday school¬ 
room there. She said she would pay 


162 A UNT SALL Y*S- WOOD-PILE, 

for them liberally. I didn’t say 
whether I would or wouldn’t; but 
I’ve been thinking since that she 
would not probably give enough to 
make it worth while for me to hire 
the trees cut and cart them so far. 
But if you have a mind to cut them, 
and gather what vines you can find 
under the leaves, you may fill my 
spring-cart from my woods, and I 
guess Mrs. Eeed, or some of the 
church folks, will give you enough 
money to pay for a good pile of wood 
for Aunt Sally; only you’ll have to 
take your donkey, Ned, to draw the 
cart, for I can’t spare any of my 
horses.” 

Roger and Joe were delighted with 
this offer, and thought it uncommonly 


A UNT SALL Y>S WOOD-PILE. \ 63 

generous for Uncle Silas; they did 
not know what some of the older 
people present knew, that it would 
be a real gain to Uncle Silas to have 
some of the undergrowth of hemlock, 
spruce, and pine cleared out of his 
woods. 

It was then two weeks before 
Christmas, and the boys did not want 
to cut down the trees immediately, lest 
they might wither; but they went 
through the woods, marking those they 
thought best suited to their purpose. 
They spent several afternoons in this 
way, studying in the evenings. When 
they began to cut down the trees, they 
found that they could not get through 
in time unless they worked in the 
morning too; so they were up long 


164 AUNT SALLY'S WOOD-PILE. 

before daylight, and the stars were 
still shining brightly when, after they 
had eaten their breakfast, they started 
for the woods. 

It was pretty severe work on these 
wintry mornings, and not even the mit¬ 
tens which their mother had knit for 
them could keep their fingers from 
aching with the cold ; but they did not 
mind that when they thought how 
comfortable Aunt Sally was with the 
wood which they had provided for 
her; for Uncle Silas, seeing how much 
in earnest they were, yielded to Rogers 
coaxing, and let them have the wood 
at once, to be paid for when they re¬ 
ceived the money for their Christmas 
greens, and several of the boys had 
helped them cut it, so that Aunt Sally 
had now a nice pile in her shed. 


A UNT SALL VS WOOD-PILE. 165 

By the Saturday before Christmas 
they had enough greens to fill the 
spring cart, and they took them to 
Delville, which was a town about six 
miles distant. Mrs. Reed was much 
pleased with them, and gave the boys 
enough money to pay for Aunt Sally’s 
wood. When they took the cart back 
to Uncle Silas and handed him the 
money, he said, 4 Well, boys, you have 
been industrious, that’s a fact; and 
now, if you care to drive a little fur¬ 
ther, I will give you a barrel of some¬ 
thing for Aunt Sally to eat.” 

Of course the boys were very willing 
to carry it; and in a little while Uncle 
Silas came up from his cellar, rolling a 
barrel which he had filled with pota¬ 
toes, turnips, and apples, and on the 


166 AUNT SALLY!S WOOD-PILE. 

top his wife placed some of the nice 
sausages she had just made. 

O, how thankful Aunt Sally was! 
“ The Lord sent you through the 
woods that afternoon,” she said, “ to 
make you think of me.” And the 
boys felt awed as well as happy at the 
thought. Could it be that God, who 
was so great and powerful, had really 
directed their steps 'l 

As for Uncle Silas, he enjoyed his 
Christmas dinner all the more because 
some faint echoes of the angels’ song, 
“ good will to men,” had been awak¬ 
ened in his heart by the example of 
two boys who were learning to sing it 
in their youth. 


XV. 


J)ltij}um , ckil 



QNE stormy October afternoon, a 
small vessel was driven by the 
violence of the wind on to the coast of 
Labrador, which you know is a cold 
country, very far north of the United 
States. 

The people on board the vessel 
were mostly fishermen from Newfound¬ 
land, who had been for several weeks 
engaged in catching the fish, which are 
very numerous during the summer, 
along that coast. Some of the men 



168 SHIP WRECKED CHILDREN. 

had their wives and children with 
them ; and a very pleasant time they 
had had while the fine weather had 
lasted. But just as they were expect¬ 
ing to return to their homes, a fearful 
storm had come, and they were in 
danger of being shipwrecked, besides 
suffering intensely from cold. 

As the vessel neared the shore, the 
captain ordered the anchors to be let 
down, hoping to secure it from run¬ 
ning aground; but the wind was too 
strong. Dragging the anchors along, 
the vessel was at last dashed violently 
against the rocks. All on board were 
brought safely to shore, though their 
sufferings were not ended. The coast 
is a wild and desolate one, and a few 
huts about five miles distant was the 


SHIPWRECKED CHILDREN. 169 

only place of shelter from the driving 
snow and sleet. 

The shipwrecked people started to 
find these huts; but many of them 
sank exhausted in the snow before 
they reached them; and the next 
morning, mothers with their infants in 
their arms, and many little children, 
were found frozen to death on the 
way. 

Three little children were saved 
from this sad fate by the efforts of a 
boy only fourteen years old. As he 
was trying to find his way to the huts, 
he met them looking for their parents, 
from whom they had been separated 
in the confusion of landing. It was 
now quite dark, and they were crying 
bitterly with cold and fright. 


170 SHIPWRECKED CHILDREN. 

The boy pitied them, and deter¬ 
mined to do what he could to save 
them. He might easily have reached 
the place of shelter by himself; but 
they were too tired to walk any further, 
and he would not leave them. He 
took them to a small mound which was 
near, thinking it might keep off the 
wind. There he told them to lie down 
very closely together, while he col¬ 
lected a quantity of moss, and piled it 
on them until they felt quite warm. 

Then, entirely unmindful of his own 
comfort, he sat by them and talked 
kindly to them, until they fell asleep. 

They were still sleeping when he 
left them at daylight to look for their 
parents. 

He met them when he was half-way 


SHIP WRECKED CHILDREN. \ 71 

to the huts. How great was their joy 
when he told them that their little 
ones were alive and well! 

When they had been separated in 
the crowd and darkness, the father and 
mother had hastened to the place of 
shelter, hoping that some one else had 
guided their darlings there. But when 
they were disappointed in this, they 
had no hope that they had lived 
through the cold, stormy night. 

Yet here was a brave, unselfish boy 
who had watched over them and cared 
for them all the time. He was greatly 
in need of rest and food ; so they bade 
him go on to the huts, where he would 
get both, while they went alone to the 
place where he told them they would 
find their lost ones. Oh, what a happy 


172 SHIP WRECKED CHILDREN. 

meeting it was ! The children were 
warm and comfortable; and as they 
returned with their parents, they could 
talk of nothing but the kindness of 
their young preserver. With grateful 
hearts they all hastened to thank the 
noble boy, and to do what they could 
for his comfort. But, alas ! it was too 
late. Exhausted with his night’s work 
and watching, he had been unable to 
reach the place of shelter, and they 
found him stretched lifeless on the 
ground. He had given his life to save 
theirs. Do you think they would ever 
forget him] 

Oh, no! When they returned to 
their happy, pleasant home, they must 
often have spoken and thought of him 
with gratitude and love, while they 


SHIPWRECKED CHILDREN. 173 


remembered that they would never 
have seen it again but for his unselfish 
care. 

He was their saviour. 

Does not this story remind you of 
the Lord Jesus Christ, who left His 
bright home in glory, and came to this 
world, and died for us, that we might 
live in that bright home with Him for 
ever ? Every thing we enjoy now is 
given to us for His sake who died for 
us. All He asks in return is our grate¬ 
ful love and obedience. He wants us 
to be willing to give up our sinful tem¬ 
pers and desires, and to try to be like 
Him. He will give us all the help we 
need. Oh ! is this too much to do for 
one who has done so much for us ] 

He says, “ Greater love hath no 



17 4 SHIP WRECKED CHIL DR EJV. 

man than this: that a man lay down 
his life for his friends. Ye are my 
friends if ye do whatsoever I com¬ 
mand you.” 



























































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